The One That Got Away
by T'Pring
Summary: Siren is back and has a new game to play with her favorite mortal - John Sheppard. When John falls into a mysterious coma, it is up to Teyla and Ronon to figure out a solution before he is tortured to death in his dreams. Now Complete.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Welcome to The One Who Got Away - This story takes place in the canon time between Brainstorm and Infection. It is a sequel of sorts to my older story "As I Lay Dying". I think it should be mostly understandable without having read the other story, and if some bits are confusing at the beginning, most stuff will eventually be explained along the way. Look for updates on MWF.  
_

She brooded. She raged. Siren despaired.

Her world cowered within the mists of her gloom. She withheld even the sunlight from it; not a single ray had touched the surface since _he _left.

Life there suffered and her villagers' pleas grew frantic. There was some small distraction in that. She amused herself for a time by playing with them as she used to, but the play tasted dry, stale. Vexed, she refused to lift the mists and the villagers began to perish, one by one. Such was her temper that she even let them die. It was what they prayed for, after all. They had not earned death, but sustaining them had lost its enjoyment. They no longer pleased her.

The last mortal to please her had escaped. To further her humiliation, the man had even escaped the death he'd earned. The distant, slight vibration of his life tantalized her from the mortal plane. It was torture, that: feeling him live, unable to go to him, remembering her play with him.

With a whimper of relief, the last mortal presence on her world faded away. A fit of hopeless fury consumed her and she scoured the planet's surface with fire and ice until it lay barren within a toxic blanket of steam. Only the portal continued to hum, bridging its plane and her own, undisturbed. Yet, it would bring no more prey.

She sank into stupor, reliving the man's suffering, the beauty of his agony at her hands. But reminiscence lost its flavor with chewing, and the spice was soon sucked out of the past until there was nothing left but a ferocious hunger for more. Only a memory of the memory's savor remained. The man would not come here again. And she could not leave to find him. She cast her mind to the Others nearby.

Or could she?

Siren realized with a fool's jolt that the Others' vigilance had weakened. Only her own timidity had kept her from realizing the fact. If she were careful, she would be able to leave. A single beam of sunlight pierced the thick, noxious gas of her world's devastated atmosphere as hope kindled. It was snuffed out a thought later: They would find her, eventually. She brooded, yet hope seemed a strange, persistent companion. Another thought took shape.

They would find her, but not right away. She would have some time. On a mortal scale, it would seem lifetimes. It would be time enough for the play she was beginning to crave like a starving lioness. More than enough. When they did find her, the Others were too cowardly to sentence her to mortal death. They would merely punish her and renew their vigilance.

For one last spin of her world, she hesitated, but the hunger had been named and the thought of one more chance to play with the man grew into a thrill that she had not felt since she dallied with him that very first time. It consumed her. He would be worth the punishment.

She dared not use the portal, so she cloaked herself in deceit and left her world to traverse the paths of linear space towards her prey. The long journey only heightened her anticipation. She would find him. He would please her again.

And this time, he would not escape. She had a new game to play.


	2. Chapter 2

Teyla jogged up the steps to the Jumper Bay. The familiar whine of a ship settling onto its pad met her at the final turn. A happy smile touched her lips and she hurried across the bay to stand beside the recently arrived jumper's rear hatch.

After a couple of minutes that felt like hours in her eagerness, the hatch groaned and hissed with the equalization of pressure, then began to crank slowly down. A faint scent of salty air and campfire smoke drifted to her as the entrance widened. At long last the top of the hatch touched the floor with a bump and a strange shushing noise. She paused for a moment to watch a little river of sand trickle down the ramp onto the pristine bay decking.

Her grin widening further, she looked up to find herself smiling at a wildly unkempt, freckled and bearded John Sheppard. He stood at the top of the ramp in cargo shorts and a black t-shirt. His surfboard hung under one arm; a duffle was slung over the other.

"We're going to have to sweep that up," John sighed at last, looking ruefully at the sand on the ramp and under his sandaled feet still within the jumper.

"We?" growled Ronon, who pushed past, his own duffle dangling. The already sleek Satedan was fairly glowing with fresh golden tan. Teyla could tell by the twinkle in his eye that the implied disaffection was for appearances only. He looked relaxed, rested and happy. He gave her a great bear hug of a greeting once he had descended the ramp

"Hi, Teyla. How was your vacation?" His feet crunched on the renegade sand as he put her down and turned to fling his bag at the wall.

"Lovely. Torren was quite pleased to be the center of attention for an entire week. Kanaan will have his hands full when I return to duty tomorrow!"

"I'll bet," Ronon rumbled fondly.

"Anything exciting happen around here while we were gone?" This was from John, who had flung his things onto a nearby stack of shipping crates and was crunching back up the ramp for another load.

"Not at all. Radek has been telling anyone who will listen that the science department has had the most productive week since the expedition began."

John snorted. "So he's not missing Rodney, yet. He will, the next time something blows up. Five weeks is a long time."

"Agreed."

"Lorne have any trouble?"

Teyla suppressed a chuckle, knowing that John had been in touch with his second in command several times throughout the week, unable to completely let go of his responsibilities. But she was pretty sure he hadn't communicated with the Major today.

"Major Lorne's team ran into a new Travelers' settlement yesterday and had to execute some quick diplomacy to escape detainment, but other than that..."

John turned to face her with a jerk, looking concerned, "Really?"

"He is fine. Apparently, once the Major mentioned that he was an acquaintance of yours, the incident resolved itself most _smoothly_."

"Oh, good." John returned to his unloading, but Ronon raised an eyebrow, catching the mischievous tone that John had obviously missed. Teyla grinned back and went on with mock sincerity.

"I believe Lorne has a _message_ from Larrin to convey. He is looking forward to telling you all about it."

Ronon guffawed and John dropped his latest load noisily at the bottom of the ramp, the redness of his neck not entirely due to sunburn.

"Uh, ok. I'll catch Lorne tomorrow. Sometime." He glared at Ronon. "You going to stand around all evening, or are you going to help me here?"

"All right." Ronon took Teyla's hands and squeezed.

"Welcome home," she told him, returning the gesture.

"Thanks for stopping by. See you in the gym tomorrow?"

Teyla sighed. "I suppose so. I'm going home to enjoy my last few hours of vacation with Torren. My son isn't the only one who will be suffering from the adjustment."

"I know what you mean."

Ronon jogged into the jumper and Teyla stepped next into John's path. "Welcome home, John," she said and imposed a quick hug that he returned with stiff affection. He smelled of sunscreen and saltwater and sun-warmed skin. She pushed away to hold him at arm's length and tilted her head to study his face. He yawned self-consciously, but she was pleased to see that the fatigue in his eyes was due to the efforts of enjoyable exertion and not stress. The unexplained haunted look he'd worn since his strange encounter with the alien hallucinations on the mainland a few weeks ago had faded, too, leaving behind a kind of exhausted contentment.

Nodding to herself with satisfaction, she stepped back to give him the space he needed to respond.

"It's good to be home," he answered at last and she believed him. "We still on for tomorrow morning?"

"I have the reports ready."

"Swell. See you then."

Teyla watched John and Ronon return to their unloading, then, with a final wave, left the jumper bay for her own rooms. She'd had much to occupy her time while her friends had been away, but she felt more content at that moment than she had all week. She was glad they were home.

* * *

John juggled his surfboard and swiped the control bar, surprised that he had made it to his room without running into anyone he knew. It wasn't late, but it was past the hour when most of the expedition had already turned in, he supposed. Unloading and cleaning up the jumper had taken the better part of the evening. He dropped his duffel by the laundry closet - everything in there was dirty anyway - and propped his board into the nearest corner, not caring whether that was where it had been before.

For a moment, he just stood and stared at his room. It was always weird how things looked different after being away for a while. The cool grey decking and metallic bronze walls seemed oddly cold and sterile when compared to the warm wildness of their beach campground. He suddenly felt chilled. And filthy. Saltwater baths and six day beards were all well and good for John Sheppard, Surfer Dude, but vacation was over. Almost.

Forcing himself into motion, he emptied his bag into the laundry basket, cringing as another waterfall of sand sprinkled the bottom. He fairly dove into the shower. An hour after walking through his door, he stood studying himself in the bathroom mirror, the transformation from surfer dude to Lt. Colonel complete. The sun had creased a few more lines at the corner of his eyes, he decided, squinting to test them out. In a rare moment of vanity, he couldn't decide if he looked older with, or without the beard. With a final shrug into the mirror, he did decide that it didn't matter.

He flopped onto his bed, set the alarm and tried to relax. He tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. His watch ticked noisily beside his ear, counting out the seconds that sleep continued to elude him. He was tired from a last day of surfing and hiking - his desperate attempt to cram as much vacation into the time he'd had - but his mind had remained blissfully lazy. It seemed determined to skip ahead to the duties he'd face tomorrow.

The chill returned and he burrowed under the covers to bury himself in familiar softness. He was drowsing in that twilight between sleep and awareness when a whisper in his ear and a feather-light tickle along his neck jolted him into full, alert wakefulness.

He sat up, eyes darting around his dark and quiet room. His heart pounded against his sternum long after he began to feel foolish for jumping at nothing. Atlantis creaked softly over some gentle swell of the waves and his heart sped again, to his disgust.

"Get a grip, John," he muttered to himself. He hadn't gotten this spooked by the ancient city's nighttime murmurs since their first month in Pegasus. He pulled the covers around his shoulders, still propped up, unable to slough off the unease. His teeth began to chatter with cold. He wrapped the blankets even more tightly about himself. His body seemed to have stopped producing heat. A bed-quivering shiver snapped him out of freezing stupor into self assessment.

"What the hell is going on?" he rasped to himself through shuddering breaths. Discomfort and annoyance was giving way to fear. Something was wrong. He couldn't get warm. His muscles were seizing into rigid tremors and he could feel his heart beginning to race. It felt like shock.

With a massive effort he pushed himself towards the edge of the mattress, every muscle quivering. He needed to find his radio. He needed to call for help. Another bone wrenching shudder threw him back onto the twisted mess of his blankets and left him breathless. He felt his body solidify into an aching mass of tension.

With a massive effort of willpower, he forced his hand to the nightstand, grasping desperately for the earwig that should be there. His fingers found only empty smoothness. He hadn't checked one out yet. _I'm still on vacation, dammit!_

A moan of frustration was choked off by a lung-stabbing convulsion. He couldn't even groan around the pain, he was so rigid with cold. He closed his eyes, focused all his effort on trying to breathe. He would try again once he was able to breathe.

"Hello, John," a voice whispered in his ear, startling him again. He felt another touch against his skin, this time brushing aside wisps of hair from his forehead. He struggled to open his eyes, but convulsions ripped through his body and he sank into frigid blackness.

"I'm so happy to see you again," the voice said.


	3. Chapter 3

"Have you seen John?" Teyla asked and Ronon raised his head in surprise at the sharpness of her voice. It was only breakfast. Had Sheppard gotten himself into trouble already?

"No. He said he was going to be busy all morning, not to wait for him."

Ronon tossed his spork onto his tray, the few remaining crumbs of egg and toast testimony to the fact that he had eaten his meal without reservation. Sheppard liked to 'rough it' when camping, and a solid week of granola bars and hot dogs had sent Ronon running to the cafeteria this morning in a desperate quest for real food. Teyla didn't seem appeased by his reply.

"Yes, I know. He was to brief with Mr. Woolsey early, and then we were to go over offworld intelligence together."

"He's probably just still hung up with Woolsey."

Ronon shoved his chair back and began walking towards the row of trash cans. Teyla fell in beside him, her gait stiff and her hands agitated.

"I thought that as well, but that was more than an hour ago. It is unlike John not to call and reschedule."

"Give the guy a break. We just got back from leave. It's hard to catch up around here."

Ronon shook his head, thinking of all the requests for training and memos that had piled up on his own desk during the week he had been gone. He was only now beginning to understand Sheppard's reluctance to leave for five weeks without a very good reason.

Teyla sighed but finally seemed to accept the reassurance. Since becoming a mother, Teyla had definitely developed more of a tendency to mother her team. A week of mothering during her vacation seemed to have strengthened the instinct. Ronon thought the change fitting. They walked along the breezeway together, their destinations sharing a route for a few comfortable lengths. Just as they were nodding a parting of the ways, Richard Woolsey emerged out of the corridor Teyla was heading into.

Ronon wagged a combination hello-goodbye as Teyla and Woolsey intersected, planning to shove the memos out of his mailbox and into the trash before beginning his first class of the day.

"Good morning, Teyla," Ronon heard Woolsey say. "Have you seen Colonel Sheppard this morning?"

Ronon froze. He twisted around quickly to find Teyla seeking his eyes as urgently as he sought hers.

"We have not, Mr. Woolsey. He missed an appointment with me an hour ago." Ronon could hear the concern returning to Teyla's voice, increased by ten.

Woolsey frowned, looking puzzled.

"That's strange. He missed his appointment with me as well. Perhaps a reminder is in order that catching up from leave time does not excuse one from ongoing duties. Send him my way when you find him?"

Woolsey finally looked a tad more sober and he tilted his head for an extra beat before he walked briskly away. Ronon caught the hint. Woolsey wanted them to go looking for Sheppard.

"Colonel Sheppard, this is Teyla. Come in, please." Teyla needed no hint.

Ronon waited expectantly, cocking his hip as Teyla paced a little up and down the corridor. She repeated the request, then threw up her hands.

"John, answer the radio," Ronon growled, slapping at his own earpiece. He waited only a moment before stepping out towards the military crew quarters. "He was headed to his room last night after we finished unloading."

Teyla followed him at a trot. "I'll call Dr. Zelenka to meet us there."

"No need."

Teyla threw him a questioning look.

"John doesn't lock his door."

Teyla's nod was a sharp jerk of approval. "Then I will have the control room begin scanning for his transponder. If he is not in his room, we will at least have a head start on the search."

Ronon didn't say anything. He was concerned – it was unusual for Sheppard to miss appointments without excuses – but he also rather thought that it was a bit early to begin a full-scale search and rescue for the man.

Five minutes and a transporter hop later, they were standing at Sheppard's door. Teyla rang the chime, then rapped her knuckles loudly against the ornate metal. Ronon threw her a shrug, uncomfortable about simply barging in. He still wanted to believe that Sheppard had just lost track of his schedule and was out for a long morning run. His radio hissed in his ear as he hesitated.

"Ronon, Teyla, we're picking up Colonel Sheppard's transponder in the crew quarters tower. It looks like he's in his room?"

Ronon swore under his breath and swiped the control bar, bouncing with a sudden surge of urgency as the door slid obediently open. He took a quick step and almost knocked Teyla over. She had stiffened into a stone statue and had her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if chilled. Ronon waited another second for her to enter the room, then chuffed in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"I…It's just…" She shuddered and turned haunted eyes on Ronon before rolling her head back in frustration. "I'm being foolish, but I keep remembering…Kate."

Ronon grabbed for her shoulder to offer a consoling squeeze. _Of course_, he thought.

"I'll go in," he said. She nodded mutely as he passed by. "Sheppard? You in here?"

Bright sunlight streamed in through cracks in the room's wide, slatted blinds creating striped patterns of light and dark against the cool decking.

"John?"

It was otherwise dim in the room and the harsh slices of sunlight only served to make the space difficult to penetrate. Ronon took a step further to lean around the corner and peer into the small lounge area. The couches were empty. The bed was empty and unmade. Ronon turned the other way to look into the bathroom when he spun back towards the bed. Sheppard always made his bed. The habit had even become something of a joke between them as they camped.

"_Your life may be a mess son, but at least your bed won't be_," Sheppard had said, quoting a drill sergeant from his training days. "_And you'll have a neat place to come home to_."

The mattress sheets were rumpled and creased, and the top covers had slid off the other side out of sight. Ronon squinted as a beam of light caught him in the eye, then grunted in surprise.

"Teyla, call a medic!"

Ronon lunged behind the bed to find the body attached to the bare foot he'd finally spotted lying among the sheets on the floor. He shoved the bed further away from the wall of windows with a grating squeal. The effort gave himself more room at Sheppard's side and he knelt beside the completely still form of his friend. John was lying on one shoulder, his face buried in the twisted covers. Ronon began to tug on the sheets, trying to disentangle John from the mess. He felt more tugging and Teyla was beside him.

"Marie is on her way," she told him. Her voice was high and anxious and Ronon felt clumsy with his own haste. His own fear was rising, but for the moment, he could only respond to the needs of the present. John had been fine last night, he kept thinking. Hell, Ronon had spent the entire past week with the man and he had been fine. It made no sense.

And yet, John still made no sound nor so much as twitched at their manipulations and repeated calls. At last they had tugged off most of the sheets, revealing their friend still dressed in t-shirt and sweat pants – his usual night clothes.

"He fell sometime last night. How long has he been like this?" Ronon wondered out loud.

"And why?" Teyla reached for John's cheek as if checking for fever. She jerked her hands away as if burned.

"Ronon, he's cold." There was panic in her voice.

Ronon flung his fingers into John's neck, pressing hard against the chill he also felt. His eyes searched John's still face, looking for any sign of motion. John lay completely limp, his face relaxed, the sun-darkened freckles from their week on the beach standing out against paper pale skin. If he was breathing, Ronon saw no evidence of it in John's chest. It made no sense! _Not this way, Sheppard._ Ronon's own heart was pounding so fiercely, he almost missed the faint flutter of John's against his fingers.

"He's alive. I feel a pulse. It's fast and weak, but it's there." It took all his effort not to shudder with relief.

"Why is he so cold?"

"Help me wrap him up again."

They tucked the covers back around John, rubbing him with their hands for warmth until the medical team arrived. The medics spent no time on reassurance, and bent to their work with hasty competence. Their motions grew even more rushed as they called out vital signs.

"Get him on the gurney," Marie barked to the others and then tapped her own earpiece. "Infirmary, we're bringing in Colonel Sheppard hypothermic. Get the warming blankets ready. Do you have any idea what happened?" She demanded of Teyla as John was launched off the floor.

"No. We just found him this way."

"He was fine last night," Ronon added, knowing the information was useless, but unable to keep himself from repeating the thought to himself. He _was _fine last night. Marie just jerked her head in acknowledgement and returned her attention to John.

"Hypothermic?" Ronon muttered. The medics were placing an oxygen mask over John's face and piercing his arm with needles to start an IV.

"His body temperature is dangerously low," Teyla answered.

"I know what it means. How do you get hypothermia by falling out of bed?"

Teyla didn't answer. The haunted look had returned and Ronon grabbed her shoulders again.

"Hey, he'll be fine. Maybe we just played too hard on that beach." He didn't really believe it was that simple. Nothing ever was. "Maybe he picked up some virus on the mainland."

"Something's wrong, Ronon. I can feel it," she whispered instead. She wrapped her arms around herself again and peered at the ceiling as if looking for something hidden above her.

"We'll figure it out." The words were more promise than reassurance. He would make _sure_ they figured it out.

Their triage finished, the medics began to shove on the gurney and Sheppard was quickly moving towards the infirmary. Ronon followed, planning to stick tight to John until he had some answers. Teyla trailed behind more slowly and he caught her pause at the threshold to the room. She shuddered, ducked her chin and then joined him in the parade behind the clattering bed.


	4. Chapter 4

John tucked his poles in and leaned forward, feeling the wind against his face sharpen into a bitter sting as his speed increased. Powdered snow whipped around his goggles and floated in a frosty rooster tail in his wake. _God this is perfect_, he thought squeezing out a last few feet of speed before the slope steepened and he was forced to begin zig-zagging again.

His lean torso floated over his skis, letting his thighs do all the work. More plumes of powder arced away from each turn. His skis left deep "S"s in the otherwise pristine snow behind him. This was most perfect snow he'd skied on since that vacation in Austria as a teenager. He couldn't figure out why no one else was up here. The lifts had emptied out the closer to the top he'd gotten and he hadn't seen anyone else since.

"Their loss," he whispered to himself, turning into a patch of moguls dug out by months of previous skiers. It was late in the season.

The next half hour was spent in fierce concentration as the run began to live up to its black diamond. When he hit an easier patch again, he dug in and twisted to a stop at the edge of the run beside a pretty overlook to catch his breath. The lodge twinkled warmly far below. He thought it looked rather like a power plant from up here, with all the wires from lifts and trolleys radiating outward in all directions into the mountains.

He was just re-situating his goggles and kicking back out onto the run when a screaming flash of hot pink blazed past. Literally screaming. The high-pitched wail Doppler shifted and kept on going.

"Oh crap!" John breathed and drove his poles into the snow to launch himself after the out of control skier. He'd been on this run yesterday. There was a wicked turn up ahead just below a 45 degree dropoff.

Pulling hard, he reached the steepest patch of slope he could find then tucked his poles to gain as much speed as fast as he could. The pink skier was still careening down the hill, knees locked forward and kicking up snow in straight line. Dead straight. Dead_ly_ straight if she didn't slow down and get herself under control before the dropoff launched her over the mountain. For a few pounding heartbeats he began to gain on the woman, but his footage was running out faster than his ideas about what he might do if he did catch up. He'd knock her down if he had to. They'd both probably end up with damage that way, but at least she wouldn't find herself wrapped around a tree.

"Slow down!" he shouted, inching closer, throwing more weight to the front of his skis. He was close to his own boundary for slowing in time to navigate the dip safely, but the woman was still too far away for a grab. She'd stopped screaming at least.

The edge of the drop was racing towards him, a heart-jolting emptiness beyond a rounded curve of snow.

"Ditch!" he yelled. "Take the fall!" He wasn't going to reach her. They were both going over.

The woman didn't or couldn't stop and she sailed over the drop, John only a few meters behind her.

John twisted and dug his edges into the powder, shoving an avalanche of spray ahead of him and over the lip of the drop. His skis scraped on a layer of ice under the powder and slipped out from under him, throwing him onto his hip to slide a few more feet further down the incline. He skidded to an abrupt halt on his butt, panting and staring in disbelief as the woman tucked her knees, threw out her poles and landed with a light bump and perfect form halfway down. At the bend, she pulled the fastest, hardest turn he'd ever seen and continued down the run.

Before she glided out of sight, she slowed and pumped her arms. The scream that drifted skyward was, this time, obviously a whoop of victory. John threw himself backwards into the snow feeling like a first-class fool.

"You OK up there?"

John scrambled upright, checking to make sure his skis hadn't unhooked during his abrupt braking, and bumbled around for his poles. When he floated (relatively) slowly down the incline and through the turn, he found the woman in the pink snowsuit waiting for him.

"You OK?" she repeated with a grin, sizing him up with a head to toe once-over. She looked perfectly calm, not even breathing hard. John was panting like an overheated mule.

"Yeah I was just- What the hell were you doing back there?!" he exploded suddenly, embarrassment still coloring his cheeks and his knees still a little weak. "That was way too fast to take that hill and turn!"

She narrowed her eyes at the outburst. They were a startlingly royal blue, John couldn't help but notice, gulping back his annoyance under her fierce scrutiny. Her dark, almost black, hair was glossy underneath the strap of her matching pink goggles.

"You new on the ski patrol?" she said finally, her tone sarcastic. He instantly had no doubt that she knew exactly who was and wasn't on the local ski patrol. Just like she knew that turn back there inside out, he realized.

"No," he stammered. "I was just… I thought you were…"

"Ah. I see. You're the heroic type." Her expression flicked to mocking admiration. "I'm very sorry not to have needed any rescuing. Maybe another day, tourist."

As she spoke, she began gliding backwards, away from him. She snapped her goggles over her eyes, executed a neat 180 and pulled on her poles a few strokes to get her speed back up. He was still staring when she zigged towards a bump and launched herself airborne again. She landed out of sight.

"Showoff," he muttered sulkily, but he got himself moving down the hill, hoping for another glimpse of her.

Whether by luck, or simply because they began to meet more people as the run merged with others towards the bottom of the mountain, the woman set a manageable, but exhilarating, pace and showed no further inclination to kill herself. John followed at a respectful distance for a while, watching her ski, learning her style and preferences.

Once he thought he had her figured out, he debated for a moment. His pride gave him a nudge or two - and then he began to move up. The first time he passed her was in a crowd that was crossing their path on a blue run. That was the first time she seemed to realize that he'd been keeping up, and he thoroughly enjoyed her frown.

She zipped by him in the next straightaway, and he let her go. The second time he got ahead was at the bottom of a wicked steep, but wide, slope that his weight and strength gave him a slight advantage. She had better technique, but he could pull it off for one short run. Again she passed him in the straightaway, this time cutting across his line in a fit of pique, then zoomed away.

He stayed tight on her tail after that, and felt his competitive juices flowing each time she glanced back to find him hustling in her wake.

The last klik was a vast wall of moguls that dumped out at the back door of the lodge. The end of the run was so close to the hotel, that John could see guests lounging on the deck. This side of the mountain was already in late afternoon shadows, and the wind blew cold against his exertion heated collar as he tipped his skis towards the first rippling mound.

He'd been waiting for this. He was better on moguls than she was. He'd watched her struggle through the last set and knew he had the edge. She went over just ahead of him. He planned a route that would take him around and let himself go. His chest floated over the snow with hardly any vertical movement. All the work was in the legs and hips – but it wasn't work if you set up your rhythm and simply concentrated on the shock absorber like motion of the skis against the ice.

A little chant sang through his head in time to his pumping legs, and soon – almost too soon – he was sliding on his heels, curving in a long arc to look back up the way he'd come. There was nothing quite like that moment at the bottom when, for an instant, you'd conquered an entire mountain and there was nothing but glory behind you.

When the woman in pink finished her run a minute behind him, (he was a _lot _faster than her on moguls) he was waiting with his skis on his shoulder, feeling very smug. She dug her edges in to stop, kicking snow onto his boots. He didn't twitch. She looked pissed.

"Not bad for a tourist," she said finally, then shoved off towards the lifts without a look back.

John grinned, feeling quite content. He took in the sky again and decided he'd had enough. He'd clean up, grab some dinner and check in with Prowl at the lodge's bar. All in all, the end to a perfect day. Another snowfall was expected overnight, making tomorrow's slopes look just as promising. There was only one thing that could possibly make his leave time any better…

He looked at the lifts where a splash of hot pink was swinging back up the mountain.

…And he really couldn't expect to get _that_ perfect.

* * *

Teyla stood against an infirmary wall watching Ronon pace. The wing was otherwise empty, the expedition remarkably healthy and happy at the moment. Nurses and doctors that weren't working with John were happily busy at workstations, pursuing their own research and pastimes.

She rubbed her hands over her arms. She couldn't shake the sense of unease that had followed them from John's room to the infirmary. It felt like ozone in the air before a storm, or the prickle of warning before a predator pounces. And it felt like nothing at all – literally. The shock of finding John desperately ill had left her numb for the last ten minutes as they waited for some word from Marie.

"Were there any insects on the beach? Did John complain about any bites or stings?"

Teyla threw the question at Ronon as he paced past, forcing herself to think, to analyze, to help.

"No."

Ronon's answer was the snap of frustration. Teyla heard it, but chose to ignore the tone.

"Perhaps there was some contamination in your water source."

"We took all our own water. The biology team resupplied us on Wednesday."

"Then maybe John swallowed some seawater while you were swimming –."

"Teyla, he was fine. I'm fine. This happened here. Last night."

She fell silent. A sudden memory of John's happy, dirty face in the door of the jumper brought a sting to her eyes. The relaxation from a week of vacation had been utterly wiped away in a single moment at John's stricken side.

More agonizing minutes of waiting passed. Motion at the door of the infirmary drew her bleary gaze and she watched Mr. Woolsey walk in. If she was interpreting his jerky stride correctly, he looked frustrated. He took one swift look around, then headed directly towards her.

"Teyla! I received your message that Colonel Sheppard is ill?"

"Yes. He is in intensive care. Marie and her team are working to stabilize him."

"Stabilize? This is serious?" He looked completely taken aback.

Teyla understood Woolsey's surprise and shock. He took her pained silence as answer.

"What happened?" he asked, his tone transitioning from annoyance to concern.

"We found him in his room, unconscious and hypothermic. That is all we know."

"Hypothermic? How is that possible?"

"Let's find out," Ronon interrupted. Teyla turned to see him striding purposefully towards Marie who was just leaving the small room where critical patients were treated. The doctor approached them, and began speaking immediately.

"We have Colonel Sheppard in warming blankets to get his core temperature back up, and we have attached him to full life support so if it becomes necessary to intervene we'll be ready. For now, though, he's holding his own."

"Doctor, do you have any idea what has caused this?" Woolsey went straight to the point and Teyla understood as well as Marie that he was thinking about the rest of the expedition. If they were facing a communicable illness, or technological side-effect, he needed to know. Marie just shrugged. With Jennifer on leave, along with Rodney and several others from the expedition, Marie was placed in the unenviable head position. She seemed to be coping by staying professionally strict.

"We are running a complete set of scans and blood tests. There are no immediate indicators for the symptoms the Colonel is exhibiting. Since there were no external factors that could have led to him becoming chilled," Marie shot a glance at Teyla who confirmed the fact with a nod, "we are concentrating our scans on the hypothalamus and liver, the most likely suspects when the body is unable to maintain temperature."

Woolsey nodded slowly. "Is the Colonel able to answer questions? Perhaps we could learn more by speaking to him?"

Marie's shake of negation was sober, bordering on stern. "The Colonel is in a severe coma. It is possible, though, that he may begin to respond as he warms."

"Possible?!" Ronon challenged, not hearing the reassurance that was intended by the statement. Marie just met he gaze firmly.

"As we do not yet know the cause of either the hypothermia or the coma, it would be unfair to make more satisfying promises, Ronon."

Ronon glared back as if unable to decide whether to continue the argument. Teyla spoke up hastily, "I know you are using every skill and resource available to you, Marie and I thank you. What do you need us to do?"

"For now, we all wait. I will let you know immediately if there is any concern for the rest of Atlantis, or if we need anything else."

"Very well. May we see him?"

Marie nodded and Teyla moved towards the intensive care room. She heard Ronon following her softly, and Woolsey speaking his farewells along with repeated offers of help. Teyla smiled slightly. Woolsey could be as strict and unreadable as any bureaucrat she'd met since joining the Earthlings on Atlantis. But he seemed genuinely concerned with the welfare of his people, and especially with those he worked most closely with. Lately he had even been making more of an effort to spend recreation time with the expedition members.

Once inside the quiet and sterile intensive care room, the chill of unease returned in force as she took her first step towards John's bed. It was like walking into a mist of malice. John lay under an Ancient diagnostics scanner, stripped of his nightclothes and dressed instead in an unusual set of textured and gurgling blankets. One was shaped like a cap and fit snugly over his head, another was hung on his torso like a vest. Tubes of water, warm to her curious touch, fed into the blankets and snaked to a large machine pushed close to the bed. They were the source of the gurgling she'd heard. A light sheet covered him to the edge of his vest, hiding another water blanket around his calves and feet.

Ronon propped himself uneasily against the wall as she sat lightly on the edge of the bed, careful to stay out of the line of the scanner that seemed to be focusing its attention entirely on John's head. Lines of blue light flickered in intricate patterns on the waxen, smooth skin of his face.

"He doesn't look any better in here," Ronon complained from the wall.

"He's still cold," she agreed, feeling the stiffness of the hand she held. Another doctor was in the room, monitoring the scans and John's vitals.

"His temperature is back up a half degree, but it's important to go slow. Warming him too quickly can cause more problems than the cold."

She sat there for perhaps a half hour, holding his hand and trying to heat at least one patch of skin with her concern. John made a few quiet noises in his sleep as she watched, and he twitched slightly when a nurse drew yet more blood from his arm. When he began to shiver slightly, followed by more severe shuddering, she jumped up in alarm, looking around for Marie.

"That's good," Marie said once she was called to the room. "He's moving out of stage 3. His body is trying to warm itself again."

"Good?" Teyla repeated softly, unable to see the rigid tremors as a hopeful sign. John's brow had begun to furrow. He looked tense and uncomfortable, but Marie seemed pleased.

"He seems more responsive, too," she confirmed.

Ronon just chuffed and walked out of the room. Sadly, Teyla realized she should also go. She had duties to perform, or reschedule at least. She would take the hope Marie offered and try to embrace it.

"I will return soon," she told the doctors. She gave John one last touch on his bare forearm, then turned to leave. She was just passing through when a hoarse groan halted her steps.

"Sharon!" John called out, the word as clear as if he were speaking to someone across the room.

Teyla watched him for another long moment, but John relaxed immediately, returning to random minute moans of discomfort. She exchanged a look with Marie who only shrugged. Puzzling over the name, Teyla finally left, leaving the chill behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

The bar was dim and cozy, and somehow managed to pull off both rustic and hip at the same time. Guests from all demographics and even more hometowns inhabited the lodge, but by nine o'clock, the bar was filled mostly with young couples showing off their partners, and young singles hoping to find one.

A second glass of beer appeared on the table in front of John and he smiled up at the waitress. He stopped her with a wave and dug in his pocket for his wallet. He had a pay-as-you-go policy, which meant he was less likely to overdrink his budget. And it kept the girl around a little longer, too. She'd been flirting all evening.

She tucked the bills into her blouse, then made a point of presenting him with her backside before flouncing back behind the bar. John obediently watched her go, taking in the room at the same time. Prowl was working the bar, as per usual. John's dark, curly-haired classmate caught him looking and threw a mock salute just before returning his attention to the bombshell sitting next to him. John chuckled. The salute was Prowl's cocky signal telling John not to wait up for him. Technically, they were sharing a room, but Cadet Major Francis Proulx had yet to actually sleep there. He was a good sport, though, and had paid for his half of the room up front.

"This seat taken, General?"

John whirled to find a pretty brunette lowering herself confidently into the seat across the tiny two-person table he was parked at.

"Uh, no. I mean…No one's sitting there. Well you are, now, but…"

_Real smooth, John_, he thought and took a long gulp of his beer, trying hard to look merely curious rather than surprised as hell. He'd bought girls a few drinks last night, had a couple bought for him, but none had so far plopped themselves at his table like an old friend.

"General?" he asked, trying to recover after a hard swallow.

"Your friend," the woman said and mimicked the salute Prowl had thrown.

"Oh. No General there. Just a cadet first class with a big ego."

"You a firstie too?"

John blinked, surprised again. "Yeah. I graduate in May. Probably." He added the last with enough chagrin that the mystery woman didn't press during another awkward silence. "I'm John by the way," he said at last. He rather felt like he was two steps behind in the usual 'pickup line, fake laugh, hello my name is' routine.

"John," she repeated. "Not very original, but I suppose it's better than calling you Tourist for the rest of the evening. I'm Sharon."

Things finally clicked into place and that smug feeling flowed back with a vengeance. He snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

"The pink snowsuit!"

She nodded with a grin. He relaxed back into his chair and took the time for a long look over the edge of his glass, marveling at his luck.

She was young, about his age, wearing a pink cashmere sweater over flatteringly tight jeans. Her glossy, chestnut hair hung just past her shoulders and curled in the wide, fashionable swoops of the day. She had an exotic face, but not of any ethnicity he could pin down. She was slim, built like an athlete, and just really pretty. John realized that she was exactly the type that made his heart beat faster and his mind wander at inappropriate moments. And she had come looking for _him._

He hadn't seen that coming, but he sure wasn't going to complain. He finished his drink with a gulp. Time to make up some ground.

"You're the chick I beat down the mountain."

Sharon's eyes flashed a moment's fire that turned her blue eyes almost violet in the dim lighting of the bar, but then she chuckled softly, "Yeah. Sorry I got sore. I've a bit of a temper. Gets me into trouble. Buy you a drink to make up for it?"

John shrugged happily. The waitress hustled over and threw Sharon a wink and a suggestive jerk of her head at John who could only laugh.

"So how did you track me down?"

"You're a tourist. Pretty safe bet you were staying at the lodge. Cute guy, decent skier, short haircut – gonna stand out. Molly pointed me your way."

The waitress – Molly, presumably – brought their drinks and Sharon leaned over to give John her full attention.

"So, John, you're from the Academy, about to graduate. What's next once you get your gold bar?"

"I go to Kirtland to unlearn everything I just learned at Fort Rucker. So they tell me."

"Fort Rucker? That's where they train rotorheads. You're a helicopter zoomie?!"

John was just beginning to wonder how the hell she kept coming up with this stuff when she added, "My little brother just got posted to Rucker. Starts in the fall after basic training at Jackson. He's dying to start flying."

"I know the feeling. That explains a few things too. You talk like a 'zoomie' yourself."

"Grew up in Colorado Springs. It's all Academy, all the time. At least in my household it was. Is. Dad's a graduate. About killed him when Kenny joined the Army."

"Go Fightin' Falcons."

The woman's uncanny familiarity with his life was starting to get a bit creepy, but at least it made sense. And, despite himself, he was starting to get interested. Many girls liked the idea of a pilot, but had no idea what that really meant. Or what it took to become one.

"What do you want to do with your career, Rotorhead."

"Combat Search and Rescue."

"I knew you were the heroic type."

"What about you? You spend all your time mocking tourists on the slopes?"

"Just three days a week. I commute in from Denver and have a condo for the ski season this year."

"What do you do with the other four?"

"I'm an avionics engineer. Graduated last term. I'm working through an internship in the towers at DIA and then I have a position at Garmin waiting for me."

"No kidding," John whistled. His heart began to beat a little faster. Not only was she a damn good skier, she was smart, too. And hot. She reinforced the impression with a very pretty flip of her hair.

"You got any girlfriends waiting for you back home, Hero?"

He rolled his eyes at yet another nickname thrown his way and then opened his mouth to answer her question. He snapped it shut a moment later around a flush of confusion. Girlfriends? The name Nancy kept floating through his mind. He had gone skiing the weekend before their wedding. At this lodge. Nancy had been pissed. But that was later. Huh?

John blinked, trying to shake off the sudden fuzziness.

"You ok?"

Sharon was smiling slightly, watching him.

"Yeah. Uh. Fine. No girlfriends. Just got back from Alabama."

"Good. You seem the loyal type."

"Please don't call me Fido."

"Ok, Spike. Tell me what you flew down in Alabama. I want to specialize in military avionics, if Garmin will let me."

And so it went. They talked for hours, Sharon probing to learn more about John and revealing just enough about herself to keep him utterly hooked. They had so much in common, it was almost…eerie. He'd never met anyone like her. Not a girl, anyway.

Once they'd worked their way through helicopters, avionics, and overbearing fathers, they sat laughing over favorite Colorado Springs hangouts. They leaned close, heads bent together. Sharon kept touching his hand that rested on the table. When the chuckles died away, John found himself looking into her startlingly blue eyes. He leaned just a touch closer to take a taste. His lips brushed Sharon's and hers softened into a pleased grin.

Molly chuffed by way of interruption as she refilled John's tumbler from a plastic pitcher. John had maxed his budget and switched to soda an hour ago. The bar was almost empty around them, a fact that Marie made a show of pointing out with exaggerated glances at her watch. Sharon waved her away with equally exaggerated shooing motions.

"Fine," the waitress sighed dramatically, "but I'm clocking out in ten minutes. You two either kiss goodbye or get a room."

The suggestion hung heavily in the air after she was gone. Sharon was watching him, as if waiting. John felt a thrill, felt his heart pumping adrenaline and other things into a heady cocktail of anticipation.

"I've got a room," he said. He'd never felt so confident about an invitation.

"About that kiss," Sharon quipped.

John was pretty sure his heart stopped with shock. He'd been so _sure_. He pulled back with a jerk, ran his hand through his hair.

"Uh. Ok, then. I guess I'll…"

But Sharon grabbed his pullover and yanked him to her lips, planting a hard and sultry kiss on his very confused lips. He felt a flush of annoyance competing with the heat of ever-hopeful ardor. What was she playing at?

"I like _long_ good-byes," she said at last, accepting his invitation with her expression and taking his hand mischievously.

He hesitated for perhaps three pounding heartbeats before the heat won out. He was twenty-three after all - far too young to be jaded or even cautious. He leaned in for a hard kiss of his own, just to set expectations (and maybe to make sure she wasn't going to back out on him). She returned it with even more passion than before, leaving him breathless.

"Let's say good-bye in my room," he said firmly.

"Good idea...John."

* * *

She made love like she skied: fast and hard. John was quite certain he'd never had such competitive sex in his entire (admittedly short) life. And yet, he was feeling smug _and_ satisfied when Sharon kissed him good-night for the last time. Her smile was gentle, and she touched his face softly before slipping out his door.

Once she was gone, John took a minute to wash up and put on his night pants. Then he flung himself onto the hotel bed, hard pressed not to laugh out loud. NOW, his leave was perfect. He tugged up the rumpled covers and buried his face in the pillows. They smelled of sweat and perfume.

This time he did chuckle out loud, a soft sigh of pleasure muffled by the bedclothes.

* * *

It was nearly noon by the time he was on the slopes again the next day. He'd felt far too relaxed and sleepy to get up when the alarm buzzed at 6:00, and he'd slapped it off. Prowl came in around 7:00 to shower and change clothes. John threw a pillow at him when he tried to hustle him out of bed. Prowl had called him a lazy-ass, but seemed impressed once he'd puzzled out the reason for John's fatigue.

As predicted, snow had repainted the mountain with soft, smooth strokes, and John decided to tackle the resort's only double black diamond piste. After several days of skiing, he was feeling back in form, ready to tackle anything.

He found himself watching for hot pink during the long ride up. He'd made plans to meet Sharon at the bar again tonight, but he'd had as much fun skiing with her as he'd had talking. More fun, almost. He couldn't quite get past an odd, 'too good to be true' feeling about her that plagued him when he wasn't thinking with his libido. But honestly, that didn't happen too often.

Again, the lifts emptied out and he was the only one to hop off the last stop. The bored lift-station monitor waved lazily as John stopped to check his gear and fuss with his goggles.

"Anybody else up here?" John asked conversationally, tightening the Velcro on his gloves.

"Not too many today. Some chick just got off a few minutes ago. Can't remember her name, but she's one of the regulars."

John's heart skipped. "Wasn't Sharon, was it? Pink snowsuit?"

"Yeah! That's her."

"Excellent. How long ago did you say she left?"

"Fifteen, maybe twenty."

"Then I've got some catching up to do."

"Have fun, man."

John was certain that he would. He hit the run with a concerted effort to maximize speed and efficiency. He was missing some damn pretty views by racing by, but he was more interested in the view he'd find if he caught Sharon up. An hour into the difficult run, he needed a break, but the sight of a flash of pink on the slope just below urged him on.

He skidded through a steep set of s-curves and broke into a wide grin as he came out of the last turn to catch Sharon taking a breather beside one of those scenic overlooks. He slid right at her, dug his edges in to shower her boots with snow as he stopped, too.

"Hi!" he shouted happily.

She looked surprised for an instant but quickly gave up pretending to be annoyed.

"Hi yourself. I looked for you all morning. I finally gave up and came up here. It's too perfect to pass on this run today."

"I slept in," John replied with mock bravado. "Had a hot date last night."

"No woman is worth missing this for," she retorted, pointing at the powder and the view with a sweeping gesture.

"You're absolutely right," John said, picking up on the challenge in her statement, but choosing to torment her.

"Wrong answer, zoomie," she snapped. Sharon kicked away from him and the chase was on.

Today was, if possible, even more exhilarating than before. When Sharon did allow him to catch up or take a break, they'd kiss and make out a bit before she'd ski away again, keeping him firmly in tow. Since she knew the run and he didn't, John wasn't complaining. He would have to arrange a spectacular finish though, he decided. Didn't want to tarnish his reputation.

Just before John suspected they were about to join up with the easier runs and hit familiar territory, the double black reared its ugly head. Even Sharon stopped flirting at the turns and they focused their concentration fully to the path ahead. John was glad he'd slept in. He was getting tired from the constant effort of controlling his descent down the wicked steep and winding run. Just ahead of him, he could tell that Sharon was growing fatigued as well. He was about to call for a break, despite the awkward terrain, when she lost her balance in a turn, overcorrected and shot down even faster on her heels.

"Oh, shit!" he breathed. He tightened up his own line to get closer, but the angle was so steep, he had to struggle to stay in control himself. Horrified, he watched as Sharon windmilled, desperately trying to get her weight forward and back over her skis. She dug in her left edge too hard and she shot towards the treeline in a blur.

"SHARON!" John yelled as she disappeared into the forbidding trunks.

John twisted, trying to stop at the spot where she'd slid into the forest. His edges dug in, but the incline was too steep and he kept going sideways down the slope, hardly slower than before. He realized he was in jeopardy himself about two seconds before his downhill ski snagged on some hidden rock or chunk of ice and his foot rolled. His ankle twisted with a snap of agony and his knees collapsed in a futile effort to control the inevitable tumble that followed.

White and blue blurred into a spinning jumble. John felt his skis yanked off the boots. His knees and elbows and hips banged into suddenly unyielding snow. He hit a slight rise and felt himself airborne for an instant. He tucked, but not fast enough and came down hard on his shoulder.

Pain radiated along his collar bone yanking his breath away.

The last thing he saw was a row of solid brown trunks rushing towards him. There was a sickening thud against his ribcage, and then…nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

"What is it? What's happened!"

Teyla grabbed for the nearest elbow, not caring who or what profession it belonged to. As it happened, the elbow belonged to Richard Woolsey, and she let go, flustered by the inadvertently inappropriate demand.

The intensive care room was a seething mass of chaos. Alarms wailed and Marie's voice rose over the din in curt command. The words meant nothing to Teyla, but their urgency was clear. She looked to Woolsey again, desperate for some answer and found Ronon peering from the other side. Woolsey just waved his hand in a helpless shrug.

"The Colonel has undergone some further complications. I was only here for a moment before the alarms brought the house down."

"What kind of complications?" Teyla took no further pains to soften her tone.

"I don't know."

"I'm going in there," Ronon announced and shouldered his way past Woolsey before he or Teyla could respond. Hesitating only a moment herself, Teyla followed.

Inside the room proper, the chaos seemed even more noisy and disturbing. She slid along the wall to the corner closest to John's head, trying to stay out of the way and fighting down panic. Before long, though, she began to realize that the activity was truly a choreographed dance of sorts. Every caregiver there knew their roll and performed their lifegiving services with precise efficiency. Feeling a little more hopeful, she concentrated on trying to understand what was going on.

Yet another doctor entered, but rather than join the fray, he also kept to the wall to end up beside her and a fretfully pacing Ronon.

Teyla struggled to remember the man's name, recognizing him from her many visits to the infirmary, but not having occasion to speak with him herself. That was because he was a specialist of some sort, she remembered suddenly. A doctor who studied cancerous cells, Oncologist, her brain dredged up finally. Dr. Zimmer.

"His lung has collapsed," the doctor whispered to them after listening to the jargon flying around John for a little while. Teyla tilted her head, immensely grateful for the translation. "They are trying to get it re-inflated and combat the internal bleeding at the same time."

"Bleeding?" she gasped.

"Massive bruising along his chest wall and abdomen. There's some concern his spleen has been damaged."

"How? How is this happening? John has been here for the last six hours."

Dr. Zimmer shook his head sadly. "Marie has been preoccupied with staying on top of the symptoms. I was called in an hour ago to consult, but bringing me on is a stab in the dark. No cancer I know of causes rapid onset of symptoms like this."

"We need to find out what's going on and stop it," Ronon growled. "Sheppard's getting worse in here and no one's looking for answers."

"I'm sure they are looking, Ronon," Teyla responded sternly, but her certainty wavered as another alarm joined the chorus. She looked pleadingly at Dr. Zimmer who was listening in rapt concentration.

"His temperature is down again. He's slipped back into stage three hypothermia and they're concerned about his heart."

"But the warming blankets!"

Dr. Zimmer shook his head wearing the expression of one completely perplexed.

"This is beyond my experience. But I have only been on Atlantis for a few months. I've been told that unusual events are far from uncommon." He rested a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, "Perhaps you will be able to draw from your own experience to find the solution. I also hear that Colonel Sheppard's team is quite resourceful."

Teyla found herself staring and thinking hard.

Zimmer tried for a reassuring smile, shrugged apologetically, then excused himself. She watched him go, then looked at Ronon. He had a similarly thoughtful look.

"Marie isn't going to figure this out," he said softly. "I know she's trying but…she's –."

"Not Jennifer," Teyla sighed, just as softly. "And Mr. Woolsey won't pursue the matter in the same way that Rodney would."

"John was right. We do miss him after all."

They were distracted by a cry of command, and the team working around John took a unified step back from his bed. The choreographed retreat opened a window for Teyla to watch as Marie ripped off the warming vest and pressed defibrillator paddles onto John's chest. John's body heaved with the release of electricity.

Teyla gasped and took an involuntary step back, bumping into Ronon and then leaning against him for support when he wrapped his hands around her shoulders. John's entire left side was a violent black bruise, spreading from under his armpit and darkening even further at the soft tissue of his abdomen. Marie held the paddles in the air for a moment, her gaze fixed on the heart monitor.

"Again. Clear," she called, pouncing again. John's body shuddered again.

Teyla could stand it no more and pushed through the motionless team to stand beside John's head. He was wearing an unusual type of oxygen mask that seemed to fit his face more snugly than was usual – some device specialized to assist a collapsed lung, she assumed.

A third jolt finally brought the heart monitor to rhythmic life and John's eyes fluttered open. After checking to make sure that Marie was in fact putting the defibrillator away, Teyla laid her hand on John's arm and brushed strands of hair from under the uncomfortable looking straps of the tight mask. The outside of his shoulder was also mottled and puffy with a darkening bruise.

"We're here for you, John," she crooned in a soft monotone and stroked his cheek. "You are strong. You will fight."

John's eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling, but there was no recognition in their dilated depths. The alarms began to fade, one by one until only the steady, but fast, beep of the heart monitor remained. The medical team also quieted and one by one began to leave. John's eyes drooped, then closed again.

"He's stable. For now." Marie moved to Teyla's side and stood watching John quietly with her for a while. "The scans are showing that the internal bleeding has started to correct on its own. If that continues to improve, we won't have to perform surgery. Which I really don't want to do in his condition."

Teyla touched John's cheek one last time, then turned to the doctor, all hesitancy abandoned.

"Do you have any more information about the cause of…this?" She waved her hand over John's bruised and motionless body.

"Only what we've been able to rule out. There are no signs of drugs or pathogens in his bloodwork. No unusual energy signatures that might indicate exposure to radiation. The bruise looks like he has suffered a massive blow to the side, but there are no broken bones or torn skin, just the internal bleeding. And, there was no impact, of course," she finished lamely, sounding shaken. The uncertainty strengthened Teyla's resolve.

"I understand. Marie, I need you to send me a complete report on what you have discovered so far. And I will need access to Atlantis's complete medical database, including John's medical history."

Marie frowned, "I don't understand why –" she began, but Teyla cut her off, touching her arm briefly to soften the sting.

"Ronon and I are beginning our own investigation. Please continue to pursue any avenue of treatment or testing you feel appropriate and share with us any discoveries you make. We are simply expanding the research."

Marie looked like she was about to argue when Ronon stepped forward, arms crossed and looking dangerous. The doctor frowned instead.

"Of course. I will have the information prepared. You may consider Dr. Zimmer at your disposal for access to the medical database. He has been briefed on Colonel Sheppard's case, but is not currently involved in the treatment."

"That will be perfect."

"Where would you like the information sent?"

Teyla looked briefly at Ronon, who just shrugged. "Dr. McKay's lab," she answered.

"Very well. Now if you'll excuse me."

Teyla was saddened by the frostiness of Marie's tone. As dedicated and skilled a physician as she was, Marie just was not the brilliant research specialist that Jennifer Keller was. _Neither am I_, Teyla thought ruefully, but Ronon was right. No one else seemed to be driving the investigation to her satisfaction, so it was up to them.

Ronon swung his arms, a determined glint in his eye.

"We'll figure it out," he said.

* * *

John opened his eyes and saw nothing but white. The pure blankness of it was soothing, like clean sheets on a bed, or a fresh sheet of paper unmarred by wrong answers. He lay for a while, drowsing in the white. When he finally realized that the white stuff was snow, he was surprised that he felt so warm. He puzzled over the thought for a little longer until the warmth grew into heat, then became searing prickles in his feet and hands.

He wiggled his fingers against the pinpricks. The effort it took surprised him and awareness snapped into sharper focus. He was lying in the goddam snow! He raised his head to look around. Smooth brown trunks rose out of the white. The light had a shadowy cast and fine flakes of snow filled the air. For a dizzy, confused second he wondered who had put him inside a snow globe, and why he hadn't held on to something when they'd shaken it.

It was a struggle to get his arms to move next, they didn't seem attached to his body. When they finally flopped against the snow with something like a deliberate motion, he shoved to push himself up.

He got no further than an inch off the ground when a fist of knives grabbed him around his chest and squeezed. The knives carved into his side and cut their way deeper with every struggling breath. A gurgling moan escaped his throat. He choked on searing cold air mixed with warm bitter saltiness. He coughed and flung a fine spray of delicate red mist that painted the snow in front of him. A hot trickle slid down his chin.

"Sharon," he croaked, barely taking in enough air to make the word a whisper. He spit more blood into the snow, gritted his teeth and pushed himself up again. His shoulders shook violently, his head drooped, his chest felt like a bag of twigs poking through a plastic bag.

"Sharon…"

The forest around him was growing dim and colder, but he was sure she had been uphill from him. And that part was easy to figure out. His legs felt like they were hanging off a ledge, the grade was so steep. He kicked feebly, trying to shove himself upward and his ankle screamed a protest too.

The gasp he tried to take at the fresh pain lodged in his chest and he sank back into the snow, unable to breathe at all until he relaxed long enough for small shallow pants to catch up on his need for oxygen. He pushed again, this time throwing all the work to the leg without a broken ankle hanging off it. One agonizing inch scraped by, then another. His jacket snagged on a twig buried in the snow and he growled in frustration. His boot slipped when he tried to shove free and he slid back down, jolting shattered ribs, lower than where he'd started.

Fighting down a whimper, he rolled off the damaged side and lay staring into the grey, snow sprinkled sky. He could feel his remaining heat seeping into the ground below him, slowly drawing his own temperature down to its own. A suffocating stillness pressed into his ears. He couldn't feel the snow on his face even though he could see it falling in feathery caresses onto his cheek. He was so sleepy. He just needed a rest, and then he'd be able to find Sharon.

The flakes gathered together, swirling into ghostly patterns. John watched in a drowsy haze as the patterns became solid shapes. A snowflake hand was reaching towards him. He watched it stroke his forehead and his eyes drooped. Just a short nap.

He closed them for an instant before a deep voice of stubborn self-preservation shook him from the inside out. _NO!_ With a massive effort he pried his eyes open.

Sharon was kneeling beside him, brushing his hair. Her hand felt as cold as the snowflake ghost.

"You're…ok?" he gasped. Each word felt like a barbed dart raking through his chest, but he allowed himself to sink into the pain with relief. At least she was ok. He would be ok. She could flag down another skier, or at worst alert the ski patrol herself.

She didn't answer, but sat smiling. He coughed again and the torture of it wrenched an involuntary sob from this throat, and more bitterness onto his tongue. Why was she just sitting there?!

"Get…help…"

"Shhhh. You're with me, John. Everything is fine. Just you and me."

"I don't…understand…"

Her smile grew even softer, her expression more tender. She began to hum, a tuneless vibration of pleasure. She reached to caress his cheek and he flinched. This was wrong. She was…wrong.

He panicked, flailed his broken body to shove himself away from her. His heart began to race; it pounded in his ears, drowning out the suffocating silence with terrified rhythm. He slid a few more inches downhill before the fist grabbed his chest again and squeezed until his heart began to slow down with the vice-like pressure. More pain shot down his arms and he arched his back, a silent scream frozen on lips that no air could pass.

Sharon was there again, hovering over him. Her hair curled around her pretty face, and snowflakes rested on her lashes. Her icy touch burned.

A stab of burning fingers raced through his chest, once, twice. His body lurched with the jolts of fire and his vision dimmed to black. Sharon hummed louder.

A third jolt slammed him out of the dark and into blinding light, and noise, and heat, and motion. Many voices jumbled together. Many sensations pierced his flesh. But one sound drew him to it with desperate hope. It was a kind sound, a gentle croon. One touch was unlike the others, warm against his cheek where hers had been cold.

He wanted to stay with that voice. He wanted to warm himself on that touch. It spoke to him of home. A word struggled free, escaping from the nets of bound memory.

_Atlantis. _

The blackness called to him and he fought the inexorable tug. He struggled with the cold, willing himself to stay in the light. But the cold crept through him and he slipped into the dark, whispering the name to himself as he sank.

* * *

Siren watched the mortals inflict their care upon her playmate and hummed as their pain mingled with the man's. She was pleased with her game, more than she could have dreamed. The thrill of it was intoxicating. Sunlight beamed onto the ancient city of her enemies. It vibrated with life below her. She basked in the fears and worries and strife of a hundred petty arguments and grudges and doubts. It had been so long since she'd had so many to feed on. It had been so long since she'd had such power.

The man struggled against her and she returned her attention to him. There would be many to play with, eventually. But he was first. He suffered so beautifully, in layers of pain as deep as the disappointments he'd suffered in his mortal life. She wanted more. She wanted again.

She set the scene for her next game and called the man to its stage. He fought and she laughed, delighting in his defiance. He would weaken, eventually. The threads of his life were already stained with the mortal blood seeping into them. When the threads began to tear away, she would have to release him to death, the ultimate consequence of her play. The ache of that inevitability hastened her preparations. Already she felt the loss. Her need grew desperate.

She pulled the man to her and he unwillingly came. She erased the whisper from his mind and started her game, giving no further thought to the mortal body that lay behind or the mortal friends that stood beside it.


	7. Chapter 7

Teyla kissed Torren softly goodnight and slipped out of his room. Pausing only long enough to make certain that he was truly on the path towards sleep, she hurried out of her apartment to return to Rodney's lab. She entered to find Ronon pacing over the table they'd shoved clear of the usually neat row of laptops. It was now a cluttered jumble of printouts and the two computers she and Ronon had been poring over all that day.

John still clung to life, still in a deep coma. They had been concentrating on the medical information and come up just as empty as everyone else. Frustrated, she had taken a break to tell her son his evening stories and tuck him in. Ronon was, if possible, even more agitated now than when they'd agreed to rest for a while. She learned the reason with his first words.

"Sheppard's not good."

Teyla closed her eyes, blocking out the pain. "There have been more symptoms?"

"He's running a fever."

"Did Marie say anything about why?"

"Maybe infection from the bleeding. Maybe caused by his wacked out temperature regulation."

"If he is no longer hypothermic, maybe this is a sign of improvement."

Ronon shook his head violently. He didn't think so.

"Then we need to continue."

"No. We need help."

"I agree," said a fervent voice behind them.

They both spun to find Richard Woolsey standing in the doorway. He waved them wearily to the table and he sat with them, assuming a casual slump. Teyla exchanged a puzzled look with Ronon, then leaned forward.

"So you will grant our request to recall Carson during this emergency?"

"I will. I did, in fact. I just can't DO it."

"What does that mean?" Ronon growled.

"It means that the planet Dr. Beckett is working on is locked down under a Wraith culling. He has the entire population hidden in deep caves so they are safe, but we can't extract him or even dial the planet until the Wraith move on." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "That may take several days. Our last intel suggested the Hive approaching may have been planning to meet with another Hive from its clan."

There was a long moment of resigned silence.

"What about the SGC?" Teyla asked at last.

"I sent Colonel Sheppard's medical report to Dr. Lam as you requested and they will look it over, but short of recalling Dr. McKay, Dr. Keller to the SGC, that's all they can do."

"Perhaps they should recall Rodney and Jennifer." Teyla was genuinely grateful to have the competent SGC team back on Earth involved, but she was not going to let any opportunity go unexplored. Woolsey looked a little uncomfortable.

"As far as we know, the Colonel's illness is an isolated, personal event. While I share your concern, I'm not sure the situation warrants alarming them during their vacation."

"As far as we know," Ronon repeated pointedly.

"Rodney and Jennifer are both good friends of John's. Even if they are unable to help from Earth, they will wish to know he is ill," Teyla added.

Richard sighed in submission. "Then I will ask the SGC to contact them, explain the situation. If they wish to return to the SGC early, they can do so."

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else?" Woolsey's voice was just slightly sarcastic, but the humor was far outweighed by appreciation. Teyla suddenly got the impression that he was just as frustrated and uncertain as she was about how to proceed. Perhaps it was only the frustration all people feel when a loved one is sick, but she had a suspicion that he felt as she did – there was something wrong, something more than an unexplained illness. She felt the burden of responsibility to John upon her even more heavily than before. If Woolsey was at a loss…

"We need a level 3 sensor sweep of the planet and access to the sensor logs for the past three days," Ronon answered Woolsey's question startling both of them.

"This is complete," Radek Zelenka announced from the doorway to the lab, wandering in as Woolsey had done. He was just as quickly welcomed to the table and he had only just mastered his expression of alarm at the destruction to Rodney's lab when they were interrupted once more by Dr. Zimmer.

"I figured you would still be here," the oncologist said with a smile as he, too, pulled a chair into the growing circle. The thin, but sedate and formal mannered doctor had dark skin and a patch on his uniform representing an Earth nation that Teyla did not recognize. "I thought I would come around in case you needed help accessing the medical databases."

Teyla felt a sudden warm glow of gratitude. These people were all here out of their love and devotion to John. Even if their efforts were ultimately a meaningless exercise to fill the feeling of helplessness as they waited, they would fill it together. Teyla leaned forward, feeling a surge of eagerness and hope.

"What did the sensor data reveal, Radek?"

"Nothing. No unusual radiation within the city or the surrounding area in the last 72 hours. No subspace disturbances, no communications. Aside from some unusually beautiful weather, there have been no anomalies anywhere near Atlantis that the sensors can detect."

Teyla was trying hard not to let disappointment capture her again so quickly when Ronon abruptly leaned towards Radek.

"Unusual weather? What kind of unusual weather?"

If Radek was perplexed by the question he didn't allow it to show, "Unusually beautiful weather is what Dr. Singh said in her report today. The meteorology team was tracking a small tropical depression that dissipated unexpectedly."

"Yes, I remember her memo about the storm. She believed it might gain enough strength to warrant raising the shield when it passed through our neighborhood," Woolsey chimed in. Ronon grew more intense.

"When did the storm do its unexpected thing? What time?"

"I see where you are going," Radek replied quickly. He grabbed for the nearest laptop and spent a breathless moment pulling up screens of data. An orbital-view image of a small, swirling circle of clouds appeared and Radek pointed. "The storm was gathering strength until about ten o'clock last evening. By noon today it had vanished completely. We've had clear blue skies over Atlantis all day."

"We found Sheppard at nine hundred hours, but he could have gotten sick anytime before then. He got sicker at 1500 hours. Any weird weather then?" Radek tapped again.

"No. There does not appear to be any further connection to Colonel Sheppard's developing of symptoms."

There was uneasy rustling in the room as the line of thought fell flat. Teyla filed the information away, none the less. Her gaze fell on Dr. Zimmer.

"Dr. Zimmer, you said in the infirmary that we should draw upon our experiences to find a solution. Perhaps we should pursue this a different way."

"How do you mean?" the doctor asked, curious.

"Can you look through the medical database and find all past incidents of patients on Atlantis suffering from the symptoms John is experiencing. Either coma or internal bleeding or an inability to regulate temperature?"

"Of course." Zimmer reached for another laptop.

"Richard, can you remember any incidents at the SGC that involved unexplained coma or temperature fluctuations?"

"I will look through the mission report archives, but off the top of my head I do remember one case where exposure to neutrino radiation affected members of SG-1. I was reading through some of those very early mission reports last week and Colonel O'Neill's comments on the radiation side effects were quite…colorful."

Teyla looked at Radek who shrugged. "We would have detected any radiation of that sort."

"Perhaps on the mainland?"

"Neutrino radiation is both rare and potent. We would have detected it even from the mainland." Under her lingering look, he squirmed and added, "But we could send a jumper in the morning to take further readings of the campsite where Colonel Sheppard and Ronon spent their vacation."

"Good." Teyla was feeling pleased that her idea was generating further courses of action to pursue. Dr. Zimmer was still tapping through the medical database and Woolsey was tugging thoughtfully on his lip.

"The incident with the neutrino radiation also transported SG-1 to another state that allowed them to communicate with an alien being that exists out of phase with our own. Dr. Jackson was caught in limbo, out of phase, for several days before finding a way to communicate through his grandfather. The SGC thought he was dead or missing."

"That helps Sheppard how?" Ronon growled.

"Oh. It doesn't really. I just found it an interesting story."

Teyla was saved from having to prevent Ronon from throttling Woolsey by Zimmer suddenly piping up, "Here we go: I know Marie performed a similar search and found that most of the incidents matching Colonel Sheppard's symptoms in the medical logs have explanations that do not fit the current situation, but perhaps you will see something she missed.

"First match is a report of expedition members experiencing nosebleeds and headaches. That time those symptoms were caused by…telepathic whales?" Zimmer looked up, startled. Teyla, Ronon and Radek confirmed the bizarre report with solemn nods.

Zimmer whistled and went on, reading from the screen, "Several expedition members have suffered from coma, usually as a result of injury. Colonel Sheppard himself was placed in a medically induced coma nearly four years ago when suffering from the effects of a mutating retro-virus?" Zimmer again looked up to confirm the report.

"Beckett knocked him out when he was turning into a bug," Ronon said.

"You really have seen everything out here, haven't you? Let's see. More recently, the Colonel underwent abdominal surgery, he spent observational time in the infirmary after recovering from a child's disease called Kirsan fever. Major Harrison's team got caught in a Wraith culling and Lt. Kaulkin suffered a head injury…"

Zimmer continued to mumble out reports while Radek tapped at his own keyboard, running more scans. Ronon had the look of a predator seeking prey and was listening to it all with something like feral attention. Teyla also felt the excitement. This was a good path.

Woolsey seemed to be daydreaming. "Remarkable, really. To think there are beings out there, completely beyond our understanding or ability to detect, much less communicate with…"

Teyla cocked her head at Woolsey, then decided he was still talking about the out-of-phase alien and Dr. Jackson. Zimmer droned on.

"Colonel Sheppard was examined after being fed on and restored to health by a Wraith two years ago. That man has a spectacular medical file, here. A few months after that and the whales, he was in a coma for several hours during and after surgery for gunshot wounds to the abdomen and thigh. Some sort of offworld engagement…"

Teyla frowned, trying to consolidate the information. She remembered the mission, and suppressed a shudder. But she had forgotten that John had fallen into a coma after he had managed to free them from the…

"Ronon!" she exclaimed suddenly, shoving her hands into the table and standing up. _There are beings out there beyond our ability to detect._

"The Ori," he snarled, looking around the room as if expecting to see it floating there. Woolsey was startled out of his muse and the rest were staring at her in confused surprise.

"The Ori were destroyed in their own galaxy by SG-1 and Merlin's device months ago," Woolsey sputtered.

"Not The Ori, _An_ Ori. John said she called herself Siren. Radek, pull up Colonel Sheppard's report on the mission that goes with this medical entry." Radek scurried to obey and Teyla went on while he worked, "We encountered a single ascended being on a planet we were scouting as a possible Beta site. This being manipulated our memories and inflicted torture upon all of us, particularly John."

She had to pause for a calming breath as the memory of the horror and helplessness at the hands of Siren threatened to overwhelm her. "John believed she was a rouge Ori that had found her way to the Pegasus Galaxy and was being held prisoner to that one world by the other ascended Ancients who live here."

"How did you escape?" Zimmer asked, breathless, his eyes wide with wonder.

"John fought her. Distracted her long enough that we were able to dial the 'gate and get home," Ronon answered, admiration saturating every syllable.

"Yes," Teyla confirmed, continuing in a rush. "Somehow John found a way to partially ascend to her plane of existence. When he was in that state, he appeared to be in a coma. Rodney recognized the difference. Radek, would you be able to?"

"Yes. It will require using the specialized EEG machine we built for Rodney."

"Then go get it. We will meet you in the infirmary."

Teyla and Ronon headed to the door before another word was spoken. She caught Woolsey's mouth open as if in protest, then snap shut before he also followed. She sighed slightly to herself – she had wondered if he would protest her rather presumptuous orders. Zimmer trailed along behind as well.

The flush of victory at pursuing answers sank violently into despair when Teyla entered John's room within the hushed and gloomy infirmary. She stood at the foot of John's bed for a moment, trying to gather her courage to move closer. Ronon found his usual path along the wall and began to pace. Woolsey fell heavily into the chair in the far corner to wait for Radek. Zimmer hovered uncertainly in the door.

Teyla couldn't take her eyes off John. Ronon was right. He was worse. In the few hours since she had visited, he had transformed from waxen cold into fever-flushed heat. His face and arms were slick with sweat and the light sheet that covered his legs and torso clung to him with limp dampness. Forcing herself nearer, she slipped her hand inside his that lay lifelessly on top of the covers. It was clammy to her cool dry touch.

To her surprise, he was still wearing the warming blankets. She touched the vest briefly and realized that it was now pumping cool water through the gurgling tubes. He still wore oxygen, but he was panting underneath the now-misty mask.

Radek and Marie brought a clattering cart of equipment to John's side and spent the next several minutes working together to plug it in and attach delicate wires to his brow and temple. John thrashed weakly in response to some dream or discomfort, then fell quiet, the ragged breaths sounding more desperate. Marie noticed and began another scan as Radek watched the EEG screen.

Teyla moved to his side to look at the readings over Radek's shoulder. Radek muttered in Czech, folded his arms across his chest.

"What do you see, Radek?" she whispered softly.

By way of answer Radek turned to the room. "Teyla is correct," he announced. "The Colonel's EEG readings are in the range Rodney's research has associated with ascension. They also match the range the Colonel experienced the last time you encountered this Ori."

Woolsey leaped to his feet to join the huddle at the EEG machine.

"You're saying that Colonel Sheppard is trying to… That he's… What are you saying?"

Teyla felt a chill shiver down her spine and the hair on her neck prickle.

"We're saying that the Ori is here, Richard. She has followed us to Atlantis." It was perhaps a leap to that conclusion, but one that wholly satisfied every intuition she had ever learned to listen to and every fact they'd managed to gather – as few of them as there were. The weather, the coma, the fact that John was affected first…

"And Sheppard's fighting her again," Ronon added emphatically, interrupting her tumbling thoughts.

Teyla shook her head, her eyes wandering to John. He seemed, if possible, more flushed than when they had first entered, his skin blushing a rosy red. "If he is fighting her, he's losing. He said the last time that he was no match for her, especially since he was not fully ascended."

Teyla closed her eyes and searched the room with her senses. Now that she had some idea of the source of the unease she'd been feeling since early this morning, she felt it all the more keenly – a brooding, maliciously smug presence that hovered over the city.

"So what do we do next?" Woolsey was the first to recover from the shocked silence that had fallen over the room.

Teyla took a deep breath.

"We need to raise the shield immediately and put the city on full alert. If Siren is here – if this Ori has escaped her prison and come here – then John is not the only one at risk."

She lifted John's hand off the bed to hold against her chest.

"We are all in great danger," she said.


	8. Chapter 8

John wiped sweat and sand off his forehead with his filthy arm, smearing more sand and dirt into the beads that popped out the second the fabric had scraped by. _God, it's hot here, _he thought. He looked around the rocky outcrop that his guys were parked on top of – in the shade, at least – and counted them for the hundredth time in the last hour. For the hundredth time it still came up four.

"When the hell is S&R gonna get here, Major?" Lt. Simon asked for the hundred and first time since they'd taken shelter in the rocks. The other two Marines, Kurt and Nix, were supposed to be catching a power nap, but John saw both of them move their heads slightly, listening for the answer behind closed eyes.

"We're…your goddam…search and…rescue," Lyle growled from where he was propping up a boulder. John's co-pilot had taken the crash landing a lot harder than John. Holland had a busted leg, and was bleeding out from AK47 fire they'd taken in the crappy excuse of a retreat they'd executed from the downed pavehawk. Lyle turned his head to roll his eyes at John.

"Shep, tell this guy you're gonna stop the car and pull over if he asks again."

John knelt to check Lyle's bloody bandages and winced as the motion tugged on the hole in his own belly. He wouldn't let it get in the way of the job he had to do, though. He was in charge. Ranking officer and all that. He shoved the pain of his own wounds aside and managed an encouraging grin back at Simon.

"They'll get here, lieutenant. I got off a Mayday. They know where we went down."

"Yes, sir," Simon replied resignedly and turned back to his lookout. John sighed, then winced again. Lyle was watching and caught the fleeting admission.

"You're hurting too. Sit down for a damn minute and rest."

"Can't."

"You're gonna pass out and then where are these kids going to be?"

"Won't. I got them into this mess. I have to get them out."

"The assholes at Grunt central got them into this. Then as usual, they call on CSAR to get them out. You couldn't have known it would go down this way. Anyone else would have spread all of us over the sand like so many globs of jelly. You crash better than anyone I know, Shep."

John finished fussing with Lyle's leg and went on like he hadn't noticed that his friend was starting to get complimentary. "I'll get you out too, so stop yapping and rest yourself." John was afraid if he let the man keep talking, he'd start getting profound.

John turned back to join Simon at the lookout when Lyle's soft rebuttal tore into him, "That kid had already bought his farm, Shep. Don't give up on yourself because you had to give up on him."

"Shut up, Holland," John hissed fiercely and turned his back to throw his weapon over the overlook shelf next to Simon. He pretended to stand watch though his head was pounding so hot with anger that he saw nothing beyond his own searing thoughts. He was pinned down in the middle of a god-damn desert in summer with a bunch of kids who'd already been through hell and his wounded partner had to go and get profound. Fuck.

Simon flicked a couple of glances his way, then leaned over nervously to whisper in John's ear, "Captain Holland needs medical attention, sir." The young lieutenant who was in command of the Marine unit that John had been sent to extract suddenly set his own weapon down and reached for the hem of John's desert tan jacket and yanked it up to inspect the bloody field compress that was tied there.

"You do, too, sir," Simon added after John swatted away the attention with an angry growl.

"It's a goddam scratch."

"Looks infected," Simon retorted then returned his gaze to the scenery. "When is S&R going to get here?"

John sighed and the anger drained away like blood into sand. Make that one hundred and two. He was hard put not to give Holland's answer: _He_ was search and rescue. He was supposed to get them out. They'd followed procedure to the letter. All it had gotten him was a RPG into his tail rotor, a seriously injured co-pilot, and a dead kid lying next to his equally dead machine.

Once the anger was gone, John was hard pressed not to let fear seep into its place. He fell back on his training, kicked his brain into combat mode and answered the damn question. He sure as hell wouldn't get them out if he was locked up in panic.

"Locate, Communicate, Recover, Simon. They know where we are. They'll try to communicate the extraction scenario they've come up with, then we fly home and I get a nice handful of Tylenol and a three-day pass to hit on nurses in the hospital."

Simon chuckled appreciatively.

"And Captain Holland?"

"He's married. He doesn't get to hit on nurses," John answered firmly. "Watch the damn road."

The view from their hideout included several thousand miles of rocky desert and a primitive road that wound around large boulders and outcrops like the one they were sitting at the top of. Heat mirages made the lifeless ground look like some kind of Hollywood special effect, except in a movie, you couldn't feel your own brain cooking along with the rocks. John knew that the road eventually led to Kandahaar, but there was a hundred miles of hostile territory between here and there.

He rubbed his eyes and wished his shades hadn't gotten crushed in the crash. The wavy reflections were starting to make spots appear before his eyes. He blinked, but the spots didn't fade. He squinted, put his had over his eyes to shade them further, then stiffened. That looked like…

"Company!" Simon hissed, and threw his torso over the rock in front of him to peer through his scope. John followed suit, and they swore at exactly the same time. The spots were flashes of sunlight reflecting off windshields. A whole bunch of windshields.

"Kurt! Nix! Get the hell up here," Simon shouted to his men and there was a scramble as the faking soldiers shoved and stumbled their way to join John at the lookout. John took a second to inventory their ordinance and wished he hadn't. It wasn't good. The Marines each had their M16s glued to their chests, but they'd been through a firefight before they'd fought their way out of the downed pavehawk. John had his P-90 and a 9mm. Added up, he estimated they had about 100 shots between the five of them. _There should have been six_.

The flickers trundled closer and John could see the dust kicking up from the thick, offroad tires. "I figured out why S&R hasn't been by," he muttered.

"It's a convoy, sir. I'm seeing personnel trucks a couple of flatbed with anti-aircraft missiles."

"Not any chance they're on our side, lieutenant?"

"No, sir."

"Didn't think so. We sit tight. Hope they pass on by."

"Yes, sir." Simon sounded almost disappointed and John rolled his eyes at the Marine mentality. He shared the sentiment, but _his_ mission requirements involved getting them home, not getting them killed in an impromptu ambush.

Just when John was about to order his group go to ground and hide themselves completely, a distant, throbbing hum joined the throbbing of his over-heated temples.

"Oh…shit!" he swore in a violent hiss. Simon flashed a puzzled look, not recognizing the noise, but John had spent too much of his time around that sound to miss it.

"Apaches coming in at 3 o'clock."

John threw his gaze skyward and squinted into a clear blue sky.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

"What?!" Simon yelled.

"F-16s lining up for suppression fire. Someone upstairs is taking out this convoy and we really don't want to be here right now."

"Isn't that good? We can flag our guys down after they take out the convoy." Simon was grinning like some kind of fool and watching John with wide eyes and a wild expression.

John just shook his head violently. Of all the fucking luck. He knew how this kind of thing went down. He'd laughed in the hangar with the Army boys about watching the ragheads run around like ants after their trucks blew up. They'd scurry around and then head for cover – just like John had done.

"Kurt, Nix – you set up over there. Simon, you're in charge of Holland. I'll work my way forward. We're low on ammo boys so don't shoot until you see the blah, blah, blah. I've got more ammo than you, so you're only to fire if they get past me."

John waved the group into the formation he imagined, then knelt beside Lyle. He shoved his 9mm into his co-pilot's hand.

"Keep it," Lyle croaked, trying to shove it back. "You need it more. They get this far it won't matter anyway."

"They get this far, you shoot until you can't shoot any more," John said firmly and then flung himself out of the shady overcrop of rock he'd spent the last six hours under into the blistering sun. Keeping low, he ducked from rock to rock until he was several meters below the rest. He found a nice big boulder with a flat top and a little space to peek around and set up shop.

His stomach started to talk to him when he crouched to run the P90 through a maintenance check and laid out the spare magazine he had tucked into his jacket. He shifted slightly and again, shoved the pain aside. The heat would kill him before the belly wound, anyway. He was already feeling lightheaded. The sun felt like a hot coal sitting on top of his dark hair.

The thrum of the Apaches grew louder, seeming to vibrate up through the rock underneath him. The caravan drew closer to their outcrop, unaware of the imminent attack. Sweat trickled into John's eyes and he blinked it out, not daring to risk getting sand in them too. He began to pant with the heat and anxiety. He flicked a look upwards and spotted Simon just above him, peering through his scope at the Apaches. With a kind of nervous distraction, John wondered who was flying the mission today. Sullivan, maybe. No, he started leave today. Had to be Wineland.

Before he could remember who was on Wineland's crew, a shrieking whistle fell from the sky and the lead vehicle blew up. The rest went down just as John feared.

The caravan halted and soldiers burst from the trucks to man anti-aircraft machine guns and RPGs. The F-16s took out two more trucks and the flatbed before the Apaches zoomed in, low and fast. The attack helicopters finished off the rest of the vehicles, moving away several kilometers before turning to make another pass at the personnel.

It was a perfect strike: unless you happened to be sitting on the rocks 200 meters away and had thirty surviving enemy soldiers running at you for cover.

Thirty guys. They didn't have nearly enough ordinance to take out that many unless they were really lucky. Or really smart. John decided to at least try for smart.

He pulled the trigger on his first targets as an Apache screamed past. Four soldiers fell that wouldn't have otherwise, but the routed enemy was too distracted by the helicopter to notice. That was good. What was bad was that the panic caused by the attack sent the rest running towards him even faster. He waited until the last possible second, still holding hope that they'd pass by or give up. Instead, a dozen reached the edges of the rocks at once in a ragged frantic line.

John managed to take out three more on single-shot, then had to switch to automatic when they finally caught on that they were under attack from the ground, too, and began to raise their weapons his way. For a few minutes, John had them in the crossfire as the Apaches made one last pass. The craft then tipped its nose towards Kandahaar and sailed off into the mirages.

There was the slightest of lulls as the enemy watched the helicopters leave. Mission accomplished. So long and thanks for the crappy timing.

John loaded his spare magazine. He took a deep breath and wondered what it was like to die quietly in one's bed. He shot a look up at Simon who was lying across his own rock, looking calm and prepared. And then he opened fire.

Five more soldiers went down, although John didn't think permanently, and the rest decided that they didn't need cover in the rocks after all. Instead, they dove out of sight behind their smoking vehicles. A handful managed to yank a .50 cal machine gun off a flipped jeep. In a moment they had it aimed and pumping bullets into the rocks with deadly, random abandon.

John ducked as a ricochet whizzed by his ear. He was surrounded by zings and shards of rock flying in his face. A yelp from above him brought a flush a fury.

He screamed in frustration and opened up on the road below him, aiming for anyone or anything that was moving. The .50 cal pumped out more sparking rounds until a bang over his head brought the powerful weapon to an abrupt halt. The enemy gunner sank to the ground and there were a few moments of blissful reprieve as another scrambled to take his place.

"Way to go, Simon!" John yelled, no longer caring who heard him. That was a freakin' beautiful sniper shot, that was. Simon kept the gun silent after that, taking out guy after guy before they even got close to the trigger. John sprayed the area with P90 fire until an uneasy stalemate emerged. The enemy milled around their broken trucks. John and one of the other guys, Nix probably, pushed them back anytime they got too close to the rocks.

"So now what, sir?" Simon yelled at last.

John didn't answer. He had no idea. His side was throbbing from the constant tension, he was dizzy from the heat. He looked at his magazine and gulped. He had ten bullets left, around three good shots. There were at least a dozen soldiers left. How the hell were they going to get out of this?

There was a noise behind him and he spun with a jolt to find Simon skidding down the incline towards him.

"Nix is watching the M2. Thought you might need a hand," he mumbled at John's disgruntled rebuke.

"I need some damn bullets," John complained. "You're supposed to be watching Holland."

Simon looked away, swallowed hard, then shook his head in a quick, negative jerk. John felt like he'd been kicked in the chest. He fell back heavily against the boulder he'd been using as cover, panting, close to hyperventilating.

"Sorry, sir," Simon whispered softly. There was a heavy pause. "We lost Kurt, too."

John closed his eyes. _He_ was search & rescue. He was supposed to get them out. He had ten bullets to get them out. How the hell were they going to get out of this?

_Two._

With a massive effort, he numbed himself from the grief and pushed back up to lean over the boulder. He would add a quiet little mental breakdown to his list of things to do when he got back. If he got back. Come _on_ John. Figure it out.

The enemy soldiers were still hunkered down, looking pissed off and wary, but not particularly worried. And that worried John. If they were expecting reinforcements…

"What are they up to?" Simon whispered at his side, echoing John's thought.

A flicker of motion caught John's eye and he swung his scope to look at a pair of men messing around behind the smoldering flatbed. It wasn't that they were moving that had caught his attention, it was that they were moving wrong. He frowned. They had the look of people trying not to be seen – or trying not to get caught.

"Simon! Nix! One o'clock. Behind the flatbed. Take them out! Take them out!"

John yelled the command even as he stood up to get a better shot. His P90 banged in response to the desperate pull of the trigger. He fired again. And again, but the powerful little weapon didn't quite have the range and accuracy he needed. Five bullets were spent before John, nearly fainting from concentration, squeezed out a round that managed to hit one of the two soldiers. Another four shots fell short or fell wide and he was out.

Simon caught up a split second later. His first round ricocheted off the truck's hood. John heard Simon's trigger click for a second shot and the M16 jammed. Simon swore loudly, yanking at the pin. The enemy soldier finished his frantic preparations and lifted the grenade launcher he'd been messing with into view.

"Nix!" John yelled.

He heard the Marine fire three rounds in rapid succession. John and Simon watched, breathless, as the enemy soldier slumped out of sight behind the hood of the flatbed truck. A soft whump drifted to John's ears just before the jumble of rock behind him exploded. Nix's last shot had been an instant too late.

A hailstorm of pebbles pounded on John's back. He grabbed Simon's arm and shoved him away from the road, hoping they might make it behind the rocks before more came down on them. Simon finally lost his cool and fought John's insistent tugging.

"Nix!" The lieutenant screamed and tried to climb back up.

"Take cover, dammit! That's an order!" John screamed back, then stumbled as Simon jerked free to scramble upwards. Cursing, John followed him towards the shady cave that memory was quickly re-defining as cool and inviting compared to the hell he was in now.

Down below, someone got to the M2 machine gun and John froze when the pounding pulses of the powerful gun began spraying the rocks with sparks again. The sparks tracked closer and he watched in a kind of fascinated horror as Simon lurched forward, fell against the boulder he was climbing around to crumple in a heap at its foot.

He'd failed. All dead. All gone. All his fault. He just stood there. Alone.

When the M2 caught up with him, John was surprised at how much it felt like someone had simply punched him in the gut. The AK47 slug had hurt much more going in, he thought as he slammed into the hill and slid a few feet further down to stop with a bump between two sharp ridges.

He looked at the sky for a moment, feeling the sun scorch his face until his eyes watered from the brightness. He raised his hand to block the sun, but hesitated when it came away from his side slick and sopping wet. He lifted his head to look stupidly at his belly and was surprised to see only a small, ragged hole. And then he looked at the ground beside him.

"Oh…crap," he groaned. A thick red river was streaming over the rocks and dripping downhill like a mountain stream springing out of the ground. As if seeing it made it real, pain slammed into him as forcefully as he'd been slammed into the dirt. A howl of agony tore from his throat and he writhed against the rocks, begging for the blinding brightness to burn him into oblivion.

Instead, a shadow fell over his face, blocking the sun. He closed his eyes tightly. He didn't want to see the face of his enemy. He wouldn't let them to see the defeat in his eyes.

"Hurts like hell, doesn't it, sir?"

_What?_ John lay shaking and twitching, feeling his life flowing out of his back and down the hill.

"Too bad Nix didn't get the grenade launcher in time."

"Simon?" John gasped, his eyes still closed. He was hallucinating. Lt. Simon was dead. They were all dead.

"It's OK, sir. It's just the two of us now."

John pried his eyes open to see the kid sitting casually on a rock next to him, a grin on his face.

"Get…cover," John rasped. But Simon just sat there, watching him bleed out. He began to hum a marching tune.

John's pulse began to race, fear mixed with shock. "What the hell..." he gasped. His heart faltered, and pain clenched his chest into silence. "…is going on…?" he finished with his final exhale.


	9. Chapter 9

Ronon sat.

Teyla had gone home for the night. He'd seen the desperation in her eyes and knew that she had only left to be able to grieve – to have some private time to release the rage and frustration. She would return tomorrow renewed, calm – a pillar of strength.

Ronon had nowhere else to go.

Usually, when the night got too full of memories, he wandered to Sheppard's room. Either Sheppard slept even less than he did, or he woke up fast enough to fake it because every time Ronon appeared, he would be there – ready to go for a snack or to spar or to run along the pier under the brightness of two moons.

Sometimes, Sheppard would be hanging out with McKay. Ronon had often wondered what memories kept McKay awake to seek Sheppard's company in the quiet times. But as he sat in the hard chair in the corner of the intensive care unit, Ronon wondered – for the very first time – what memories John hid from. He felt ashamed that he'd never wondered before. How many times had Sheppard answered the door a little too quickly, a little too eager to leave the emptiness of his room? Where did _he_ go when the memories got too close and there was no one knocking at the door seeking their own distractions?

Ronon shifted angrily in his seat. The tension hanging over the city was a toxic blanket that muffled every friendly voice and twisted every groan of the city or flicker out of the corner of one's eye into suspicion. The city's shield had been up for 24 hours, but only perfect golden sunlight had pummeled its defenses until night bloomed, equally clear and beautiful.

All he knew was that if Sheppard were awake – if he weren't lying in front of him dying by inches – Ronon would be wandering the halls to Sheppard's room. And Sheppard would open the door.

No, Sheppard would be in the control room, in the thick of it – figuring it out and finding a way to fix things.

"How is the Colonel this evening?"

The soft voice startled Ronon out of angry speculation and he lifted his head to find Dr. Zimmer tugging a chair over to sit beside him.

"Uh, Sheppard's worse. More bruising, other side this time. More machines hooked up. His insides aren't working."

Ronon didn't have the medical words, or he didn't have the courage to use them. He'd watched while alarms wailed and Sheppard laid more of his life into the brutal hands of technology.

"Renal failure and jaundice," Zimmer confirmed, holding up Sheppard's chart briefly before letting it swing back to slap against its hook. "Have your people learned any more about how or why these physical symptoms are manifesting?"

"Not really. No one knows much about ascension. No one but Sheppard has ever done it half way."

"But you said he'd done it before?"

"The last time we fought the Ori."

"Did the Colonel experience this kind of thing then?"

Ronon thought back to that planet he'd tried so hard to forget in the years since. "He wasn't gone long that time, but his body did react a couple of times to…something." Ronon remembered heaving a wildly thrashing John through the 'gate as they'd struggled to escape. "Sheppard said he fought the Ori."

"And you believe he is fighting her, now?"

"Yes." The affirmation was adamant.

"So perhaps, his physical body is reacting to whatever he is experiencing in that other plane," Zimmer said, softly curious. Ronon frowned. It was an obvious assumption. He tried to remember if someone had already come up with it.

"Makes sense. Not a nice thought. If this is what he's going through here…" Ronon stopped, finding the idea more disturbing the more he thought about it.

He'd spent two hours in the meeting with Woolsey, Teyla, Lorne and the SGC discussing what defenses they had against an ascended being that might decide to make her presence known at any moment. The wraith-destroying lightening bolts the Ancient Chaya had been able to produce came up many times. Being torn up from the inside seemed even more terrifying to Ronon.

"Sheppard is strong. He won't give up. If there's a way to fight the Ori off, he'll find it."

"I believe you. I've spent some more time with the Colonel's record and he seems a remarkable man." The doctor pushed himself up and turned to leave. He stopped at the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking hesitant, but compelled to speak.

"It occurs to me that if experience can be transferred from that plane to here, it could work the other way, too."

"What?" Ronon shook his head, confused.

"I mean, talk to your friend. Give him encouragement he needs for the fight. He's not gone, he's lost. Help him find his way. When you figure out how to help him defeat the Ori, tell him."

"Right."

Ronon wasn't convinced, but after Zimmer left and Ronon was alone again, the idea grew heavy on Ronon's mind. Where did Sheppard go when memories grew thick? The answer sprang suddenly to mind, and Ronon hung his head with the insight into his friend. Sheppard ran from his own demons by chasing after the demons of others.

Zimmer was right. This time Sheppard needed help. And Ronon owed him too many nighttime visits not to repay some of that debt.

Feeling completely awkward, Ronon pulled the chair closer to the bed, situating himself on the side that Sheppard's quiet, flushed face was turned slightly towards. He looked at his friend for a long time, trying to see past the tubes and wires and softly beeping machines.

"Hey, Sheppard," he began, then cleared his throat and looked around nervously. "Doc says I should, you know, talk to you and stuff. I know you're with the Ori. I know you're fighting, because you're too damn stubborn to let that _stanga_ mess around with us like she did last time."

He leaned forward, growing more courageous with a sudden thought. "You're also too damn responsible for your own good. You don't have to do everything yourself, Sheppard. You give me the word, tell me what to do, and I'm there for you, buddy."

A nurse walked in and Ronon stopped abruptly, reddening. The nurse performed her duties quickly and quietly and left again with only a curious look back. Ronon took a deep breath.

"You're not alone, Sheppard. You don't have to do it alone."

* * *

John lay against the fabric of space-time, resting in nothingness. He was confused. He didn't know where he was. He finally decided that lying around wasn't going to get him any answers so he sat up. It turned out to be one of the weirder things he'd done, lately.

He was nowhere, and everywhere at the same time. He could see the Pegasus Galaxy stretching out around him in every shade of radiation. He also saw Atlantis lying peacefully on its ocean cushion, a little glowing ball against a pitch black sea.

"Why did they raise the shield?" he wondered out loud to himself. And then he wondered where that thought had come from. He couldn't remember…anything.

Alarmed, he pushed harder to try to stand up. The tug and pull of a thousand needle-sharp prickles drew his attention back to his own consciousness. He was wrapped in glimmering threads, some frayed, all stretched tightly to a nearly painful tension. Most trailed their way into the city nearby, but a few stretched out of sight, beyond the horizon of this galaxy.

He followed the closest lines and saw…himself. They were woven into the body that lay motionless against white sheets. Many were red with blood, and vibrated with pain. He cringed away from the red ones then watched in horror as they frayed and tore away. He snatched for the remaining threads, holding them tightly, clutching them against his chest to protect them.

A low chuckle rippled through his awareness and he shuddered. Someone else was here. He looked around and finally saw her, circling him. He could feel her pleasure at his confusion, and the shudder deepened. He had no name for her, but fear was pulsing through him from a primal source. She definitely wasn't on his list of friends to invite to a picnic.

"Where am I?" he asked when she said nothing. _Who am I? _Was what he wanted to ask.

"We are together. That is all that matters," she whispered. And then she pounced.

John felt her slide into his mind and he cried out at the desperate discomfort. He struggled at the invasion, shoved her away bit by bit. She retreated at last and he felt a moment of victory until she began to hum with greater pleasure than before.

"Who are you?" he panted.

She pounced again, the attack even more ferocious than before. The galaxy of light began to fade away and another place formed around him as she bent his mind into her own shapes. His struggles grew weaker and he felt himself slipping into the illusion she was creating. He held tightly to the threads. One of them was vibrating, but not with pain; it was attached to a rumbling voice, a familiar tone.

For a moment, he threw all his effort into listening to that one thread, that single line of comfort. _Atlantis_. The word surfaced again and he suddenly knew it was the shielded city he'd seen below.

_Ori. Siren._ More words rippled along the thread. He had a name for the one who pulled and scratched at his mind. He knew why the city defended itself. He knew the danger it was in.

Siren screeched in annoyance, yanked on his mind to bring him to her game. He resisted. He had to keep remembering. He had to find a way to fight like the thread was coaxing him to do. The challenge set his mind vibrating with defiance. Siren yanked again and he lashed back, raking at her with frustration born of fierce devotion.

Siren's response was instant and devastating. A great wave rose from the waters to form a giant wall of water, oily and glistening in the moonlight. The wall bent over the delicate snowflake of the glowing city, poised to drown everything under its massive weight.

"No!"

John flung his consciousness towards the city, desperate to shield it from the wave. He screamed in frustration as the threads held him tightly bound, far out of reach. He leaned until the threads were painfully tight. One or two snapped with a jagged stab, but he was still too far away.

Siren chuckled, her voice low and sultry.

"Come," she cooed, still holding the water back, but she let it lean, ever so slightly closer to his home.

John nodded and the water collapsed back into the ocean leaving behind a circle of waves that spread even to the mainland where it washed away sandy beaches and scoured costal rock. He waited meekly until Siren slipped into his mind and called him again. She crushed out his memory, stretching and tearing at the thread that still vibrated in his hand with a warm buzz. But the thread didn't break.

When he opened his eyes again, he was somewhere else. He was wearing his uniform. Wraith darts whined overhead and he began to run, looking for shelter from vivid-bright culling beams. People were screaming all around him. He had a jumper. He would get them to safety. But he couldn't. He didn't…

When the primary male wraith finished herding the terrified villagers onto a waiting cruiser, it turned last to John.

"There is no need to take you," it hissed through drooling, crystal teeth.

The warrior drones holding his arms yanked him forward and shoved him to his knees. He looked up into the nightmare face, then closed his eyes.

The scream that escaped was defiant. The pain of his life being ripped through his chest was more than he'd yet endured, but it was bearable. He remembered a little. He remembered enough. He would protect the city.

_You're not alone, Sheppard, _the thread had said.


	10. Chapter 10

Teyla sat up on her couches, her heart pounding, her hands flying defensively before her chest. She was halfway to Torren's room before reason caught up and she remembered that she had sent him away with Kanaan. It had been a decision made in a moment of panic, but she had no regrets regarding caution where her son was concerned.

Instead, she spun towards the doors and flung herself into the hallways of Atlantis. The sense of chilling malice that she had felt since the Ori had descended upon them was now roaring with anger. The pressure from a flare of fury pressed her into the decking and she stopped to slap at her earpiece.

"Control room, this is Teyla. Is the shield up? Is anything wrong?"

"Control room," came the swift and reassuring reply, "The shield is up, ma'am. Nothing seems to be wrong at the moment. Scans are all...holy shit!"

Teyla dropped her hand from her ear and ran. When she skidded into the control room, a crowd was gathered around the Ancient screen that displayed a massive splash of red against the curving arc that represented the planet. A little yellow dot was blinking placidly underneath the crimson.

"Increase inertial dampeners to maximum. Initialize the star drive!" she barked to the staring crew and they scrambled to comply.

A rumpled and sleepy-looking Zelenka shoved his way through the bodies at the screen a few minutes later, followed closely by Woolsey and Major Lorne. Zelenka muttered as he read the data flowing over the shimmering surface, then relaxed slightly.

"Good, good. That was a good decision to increase power to inertial dampeners," he said to the room at large and Teyla felt a tickle of relief. She had given the order impulsively, and was glad it had been a correct response.

"Will it protect us from that?" she asked, pointing at the hovering phantom of red.

"What _is_ that?" Lorne interrupted.

"It is a very large...wave," Zelenka said awkwardly, as if he were unsure of the correct word to use. "A giant wall of water nearly twenty kilometers wide and two kilometers high."

"A wave? Is it moving in our direction? Can we move the city out of its path?" Woolsey slapped his hand on the nearest control panel and Teyla saw his fist clench with the urgency of his questions.

"It is not moving. It is just...sitting there. Right on top of us."

"How is that possible?"

"Siren," Teyla said emphatically and Woolsey just slumped as if he'd known the answer but had been hoping otherwise. "She is angry," she added.

"Can we survive the impact if that wave falls?"

"Most likely, if the water simply falls on us, we will be able to withstand the force. It will still be a bumpy ride, and it is unlikely we will escape completely undamaged. I recommend prioritizing shield and inertial dampers."

"Of course. Why did you initialize the star drive?"

"I did not."

Teyla lifted her chin. "I gave that order. It seemed like we might have the need to move quickly."

"Reasonable," Woolsey said, rubbing his face with his hands. "Dr. Zelenka, will keeping the star drive active draw too much power from the shields?"

"Not if we keep it initialized only. The greatest drain on power in that system is the inertial dampeners, and we need that regardless. If we should decide to engage the drive, then we will have to make compromises."

"Understood."

"We're just going to sit here and wait for that wall to drop on us?" Lorne snapped, throwing his hands in a gesture of pure frustration.

"I see no alternative at the moment, Major," Woolsey replied sympathetically.

"We could move the city, like Teyla said."

"There's no reason why this Ori wouldn't be able to just move the wave after us."

"Then submerge. Go deep enough so that wall won't crush us when it falls."

This time it was Zelenka who replied, "We considered that earlier today. If this being were to manage to compromise the shield, we'd be flooded instantly. Remaining on the surface at least allows us the ability to respond to further threats should that happen."

Lorne walked in a tight circle and Teyla saw a man exhausted by the stress of helplessness. His uniform was rumpled, and his eyes shadowed, but she suspected that the major had not been awakened by the emergency. She had seen him hovering in the infirmary when she left for the evening. He most likely had been wide awake at his duties - for far too long.

"We've got to do something," he said at last, the words more a plea than a command.

"For now, we wait," Woolsey repeated firmly. "We have no real evidence that this being intends to do us harm. Responding rashly may provoke it. We will adjust that assumption as the situation develops."

"Tell Sheppard it intends no harm." Lorne's voice was icy. "I'll be in the duty room. If we get dunked, we'll need teams ready to assess damage and secure compromised areas." He stalked out of the control room, his shoulders stiff with anger.

"This Ori intends us harm, Richard," Teyla said, holding his eyes with her certainty. He also stiffened, but she went on before he could form a rebuttal, "yet I, too, see no alternative other than to wait and see what Siren intends for us by creating this wave."

Woolsey just jerked his head in acknowledgment. A tense silence settled over the room. Zelenka sat at Rodney's usual station and more data spilled over the screen on top of the red beast. Woolsey paced for a while, then propped himself up against a control panel - to the annoyance of the technician working there - and continued to stare at the screen. Teyla realized with some surprise that Woolsey was wearing a silky workout suit and...slippers. He had obviously dressed quickly after being awakened by the alarm.

For her own part, Teyla couldn't help glancing ceilingwards, as if she already felt the weight of the water tumbling down upon her. The presence, the coldness, was still angry and she suppressed the impulse to wrap her arms around herself.

Time passed. The ticking of the unnoticed clock must have crossed some threshold because there was a sudden, quiet bustle as the control room shift changed. Teyla, Woolsey, and Zelenka watched, unmoving.

When a pink streak of light began to brighten the windows of the gateroom, Teyla wandered to the balcony door, hesitated, then stepped outside. The sky was an eerie pale blue - a clear, crisp contrast to the feeling of storm clouds upon her mind. She turned her head to the North, and gasped.

A vast wall rose out of the horizon. The water churned and frothed at the top, but otherwise held weirdly motionless. Some trick or angle of the pale morning light illuminated the surface, but it refused to penetrate the mass, giving the water a slick, black sheen - like marble, or the aircraft metal John had shown her once that absorbed all light.

The sense of foreboding grew even stronger just before a mercurial shift in mood announced itself in the form of a gentle breeze over the easterly horizon. The mountainous wave rippled, then sank back into the ocean with a roaring rush of sound. Atlantis creaked and swayed over the large ripples left in its wake. Teyla gripped the railing tightly as the city rocked. The crash of small objects slipping off tables, and a few exclamations of surprise met her ears from the control room behind her, and then there was silence again.

A glorious sunrise streaked the sky with pastel brushstrokes. Siren was pleased again, Teyla realized, and she had a sudden intuition that John would be worse when she returned to his bedside: the evil pleasure held a hint of gloating. Perhaps the threat against the city had not been for their benefit at all. Perhaps, she realized, Siren was using them as weapons against John. It did not truly wish to destroy the city; there were too many souls here for it to torment.

Ronon was right - they needed help. If John failed in his fight - as Ronon believed - or failed to survive whatever torture Siren was inflicting upon him as she believed, then the Ori would come for the rest of them next. And John grew weaker by the hour.

She spent another few minutes on the balcony until a new plan began to form. When she strode purposefully through the doors, she walked directly to Woolsey and waited until she had his undivided attention.

"I need a jumper," she said firmly. "And permission to go offworld."


	11. Chapter 11

John cradled Teyla in his arms, then crushed her lifeless body to his chest. A single pair of matching tears streaked his dirt-blackened face, leaving behind a trail of heat. He stared at the devastated village, the other bodies that lay crumpled and broken in the dust. The tears were the only outward sign of the devastation within. There was no catch in his throat, no sob. He was still as a statue and taut as a bow.

There was a flash of movement behind a smoldering tent and John pulled her into a final embrace before he laid her gently down. He drew his knife and stalked towards the movement, his body a prowling predator, his motive – revenge.

The bandit he'd seen was digging idly through an overturned clothing basket. John caught the thief unawares and crimson blood spilled onto the bright fabrics and beaded leather. He wiped the knife on his pants and returned to the main square looking for more. He heard muttering coming from nearby and turned towards the sound, then froze as his hunt brought him back towards Teyla.

He didn't want to see her again. For a moment, he stood swaying. Irrational hope fluttered in his chest as long as he couldn't see her. Desperation finally began to convince him that if he did look, he'd find her waiting for him, impatiently reaching to him to pull her back to her feet. Teyla always landed on her feet. Flooded by a certainty born of friendship and faith, he looked. He almost smiled with his belief.

She was still lying, motionless and crumpled, where he'd laid her.

"No!" The wrongness overwhelmed him and he threw his knife into the ground.

It was wrong. This was wrong. Teyla wouldn't submit to primitive bandits. He'd seen her fight too hard and win too often. She wouldn't let it happen. _He_ wouldn't have let it happen.

He stood panting in the middle of the town and suddenly clutched his head. Some whisper was pounding behind his eyes. This wasn't real. He had to fight. He had to remember…what?

A chilling jeer jerked him around to find a group of bandits creeping out of the shadows of a shredded leather hut. They were pointing and laughing at him. John took a wary step back, then stopped.

This wasn't real. Teyla wasn't dead. This wasn't real.

One of the bandits shouldered his compatriots aside and flung a knife. The whistling blade flashed then embedded itself in John's gut. John sank to his knees with a grunt.

This wasn't real.

Another blade whistled, this one catching him in the chest. He fell to his side, trying not to whimper. Sure felt the hell real. He closed his eyes and tasted blood on his tongue. Footsteps gathered around. A booted toe slammed into his back.

He lay still, closed his mind to the continuing abuse. He sank into darkness swiftly and willingly. He just wanted it to be over so he could go back to…that place where the whisper was clearer and he could see…everything.

He wasn't alone. It wasn't real. He clung to the thought like a lifeline, even as his life was being beaten from him. From somewhere _else _he felt a flare of anger wash over his mind. And this time he smiled. Somehow, he knew that was a good thing.

* * *

Teyla didn't bother with the villagers and directed Lorne to land the jumper in the courtyard of Athar itself. Lorne and Ronon followed Teyla out of the rear hatch and she paused at the foot, taking a moment to get her bearings and recall the last time she had been here. Much had been different then. Aiden had been with them that first time. Ronon had never been here. They had followed the village priest never suspecting that the god they worshipped was an ascended Ancient.

Rodney had suspected the truth. And John - Teyla's breath caught in her throat at the desperate worry that brought her here this time - John had befriended Chaya, as he so easily befriended all who gave him half a chance.

"Athar, show yourself," Teyla called.

There was no answer, no movement within the flowering courtyard so she moved further under the stone shelter that seemed not to have changed at all from her memory. Ronon followed, his movement a restless expression of impatience. Lorne wandered off on his own, his worry evident in the tightness of his fist around his weapon that he held at the ready. She had explained her plan to ask Chaya for answers and help. The Major had agreed to the idea with something like desperation.

"Chaya, we wish to speak with you."

A breeze ruffled their hair and she felt Lorne and Ronon tense. As if she had merely walked through an invisible door, Chaya appeared and came lightly down the steps towards them. She looked exactly as she had before, dressed in a flowing blue gown, her bronze hair falling in wisps against bare shoulders. Teyla shifted her feet, feeling the years since their last encounter sitting heavily upon her.

"Welcome to the temple of Athar," Chaya greeted with a small bow. "It has been a long time, Teyla. I am pleased by your visit. Where is John?"

Teyla studied Chaya with open frankness. Did she truly not know?

"He is why we have come. He is under attack by one of your kind and we need your help to stop her."

"My kind?" Chaya took a step back, skepticism written in her frown.

"An Ori who calls herself Siren. John is in a coma, clinging to life. We believe that this Ori is holding him captive in your plane of existence."

"The Sevagnet," Chaya whispered and Ronon rumbled his approval. Apparently the word meant the same thing in Satedan as it did in Teyla's language. Chaya raised her hand to her brow and faded into a transparent mist for a moment. When she returned, she was grim. "I see the truth of your claim."

"Then do something about it!" Ronon interjected.

"There is nothing I can do," Chaya replied sadly.

"Like hell there isn't!"

"Come back with us," Teyla added to Ronon's frustrated outburst. "Drive this Ori away!"

"I cannot. I am as bound to my world as the Sevagnet."

"You left before. You came to Atlantis."

"And my disobedience nearly cost my people everything. I dare not leave again while the Wraith remain hungry."

"When your people were in danger, John came to you. He risked his own life for your people. Will you not risk anything for his life now?" Teyla was clenching her fists, snapping out the words in her anger. How could this creature reject their desperate request so blithely?

Chaya faded into mist again, disappearing for such a long moment that Teyla was certain she'd simply left. Ronon swore loudly and turned as if to head back to the jumper. When Chaya appeared again, she faded into being so close to her shoulder that Teyla jumped. To her further shock, the Ancient enfolded her in an embrace, the gesture like that of a sister.

Teyla suffered the touch impatiently and Chaya finally released her, pausing to whisper a devastating message before stepping away. Teyla reeled, stumbling with the words that had been put into her mind.

"No," she said. Her voice was hoarse and Ronon stepped closer to hold her elbow, steadying her. He looked at her in concern, but her answer was for Chaya. "No. There is another way."

"The Sevagnet is too powerful for any one ascended to restrain. She feeds on mortal emotion – the more powerful the feeling, the more power she gains. Long ago, she had many worshippers and her power was so great that it took the combined forces of all of us in this galaxy to restrain her. A foolish group of mortals pleaded to be allowed to stay with her and she was sentenced to tend to them as I tend my flock."

"Those people on that planet wanted to stay with her?" Ronon interrupted.

"I am sure the descendents of the original worshippers regretted the choices of their ancestors," Chaya agreed. "Over time, the population on the planet dwindled – no doubt due to her harsh treatment of them – and her power faded. Our vigilance wavered." She spoke the last with soft self-rebuke.

"And because of this negligence, Siren escaped. She followed John to Atlantis." Teyla withheld none of the accusation in her tone.

"John feels…deeply." Chaya touched her again, "The Sevagnet would find him useful."

Teyla felt the blinding truth of the words like a puzzle unraveled or a mystery solved. John so rarely let his feelings escape; that which had no egress must dive within, she realized, understanding her friend through that simple statement as she had never understood him before.

Teyla jerked free from the touch. "This creature is torturing him because of you. Your kind let her escape. YOU stop her."

"She will be stopped, but she has grown in power as she has fed on John's passion and on the emotion within your city. Even were I to follow you to Atlantis, I could not stop her myself. At best, I would merely annoy her. At worst, I would provoke her to strike out at all of you. We will gather and restrain her once again, but we are scattered. Many have left this galaxy altogether since the last encounter. It will take time."

"Sheppard doesn't have _time_, Ma'am," Lorne spoke for the first time since Chaya had appeared. "This thing is killing him now. It's threatening the city, _now_."

Chaya just blinked at Lorne, then turned her gaze on Teyla. Teyla saw tears glistening in those perfect eyes. "Teyla knows what to do."

"No. There has to be another way."

But the Ancient faded away for the last time and the breeze against their faces was cold. Lorne sighed and let his weapon fall to his chest.

"What was that all about?"

She couldn't answer, yet. She wasn't ready to speak Chaya's words out loud.

"We can go," she said instead, and she heard the bitterness of her own voice. "There's no point in staying."

The short jumper ride home was uncomfortable and silent. Teyla sat beside Ronon in the cockpit staring out the windshield as jewel blue faded into empty black. He kept shooting her puzzled looks that grew more concerned as the silence deepened. After the jumper bumped lightly onto the bay floor and Lorne had fled the craft slumped with failure, Ronon held back and pulled her aside.

"What happened back there? What did the Ancient say to you?"

"It doesn't matter," she replied, trying to sound confident. Ronon only looked more concerned. "We'll find another way." She pulled away to lead him towards the infirmary. "We have to find another way."

"Teyla."

She stopped.

"Sheppard needs any help he can get. What did the Ancient say to you?" Ronon's words were stern, but he grabbed her arms to hold her in a comforting embrace. She wouldn't look at him.

"Chaya said that John has to ascend. That full ascension is the only way to fight Siren and save John's consciousness."

Ronon let go and backed off, startled into restless motion. "How is he supposed to… If he has to…"

"That was exactly my reaction."

"Don't you have to die to ascend?" Ronon spat out the words like an accusation.

"That is the understanding of my people. Rodney has a different interpretation of the process."

"Different maybe, but he still almost died when that machine tried to make him do it."

"Agreed. I don't trust Chaya. She is unwilling to combat this Siren directly. She may even have selfish motives for wishing John to ascend." Teyla was surprised at the shadow of jealousy that had followed her from Chaya's planet. The Ancient knew so much about John having spent so little time with him. It wasn't romantic jealousy – she'd just felt like she'd been caught in a lie. Chaya had made her feel like an inattentive friend.

"So we're back to nothing," Ronon sighed. They began walking towards the infirmary again. She was dreading what they would find.

"We do know the Ancients are gathering. Perhaps they will confront Siren in time."

"In time for us, or in time for Sheppard?" Ronon muttered. Teyla didn't answer.

When they entered the familiar rooms of the infirmary they found a gathering around John's bed and rushed to join the crowd. An anxious lump of fear settled into guarded relief as she realized that the nurses and doctors were preparing to depart, their services yet again successful at pulling John through whatever new crisis his body had endured. Marie was last out the door of the intensive care room and she gave only a bare nod of reassurance as she passed by. Teyla and Ronon were by themselves.

"He looks so…tired," Teyla whispered into the quiet that settled upon them as they watched John struggle even to breathe. "We have to think of something before he gives up, Ronon."

"Sheppard won't give up. He's stubborn."

"But even John can't endure this forever."

Ronon didn't answer and Teyla sank into the chair in the corner, feeling her own fatigue pulling her into despair. John muttered something that sounded like a word of defiance, and then groaned ever so softly. To her great surprise, Ronon stood close and began talking to John in a low, earnest voice. She didn't catch all of his words, but she understood that he was telling John about the Ancients that would gather to help him.

Tears wet her eyes and she rested her head in her hand to hide them. Chaya's words kept whispering in her mind. _John must ascend_.

She didn't want that to happen. She didn't know HOW that could happen. But she didn't have anything else to offer. She felt lost and confused. "We'll find another way," she said fiercely to herself.

But she had no idea what that might be.


	12. Chapter 12

"Ronon!"

John fired rapid bursts at the Asuran replicators and swore under his breath as they merely shed tiny flecks of themselves and kept coming.

"Can't hold them back for much longer, buddy!"

John gave a little more ground. He recalculated the route back to the Asuran Stargate and swore again.

"Ronon!"

He flicked yet another look over his shoulder and his head buzzed with relief when he finally saw Ronon skid around the corner behind him. The feeling was short-lived. A hand followed his friend into view and wrapped itself around Ronon's collar. Ronon was jerked back, and then there were more replicators grabbing for him, holding him down.

"Let him go!" John yelled and turned his back on the Asurans he'd spent the last five minutes holding off. He fired shot after shot, restraining his anger and the temptation to switch to full automatic. But even as he stalked closer, sending sparks and bits of replicator flying dangerously close, Ronon was wrestled onto his knees, his hands held tightly behind his back.

Flashes of stunner fire zipped past John from behind, but he ignored it, pushing nearer, pushing back all but the stubborn Asurans who held Ronon.

"Back off! Get away!"

A crackle of blue streaked by so close that John felt his elbow tingle. He watched as an Asuran pulled its hand back and shoved it into Ronon's forehead with sickening force. John was too far away. He fired again and again into the replicator that was sucking out Ronon's brain. A shard flung itself into Ronon's bare shoulder and left behind a deep red scratch. His friend began shuddering from the attack upon his mind.

Some deep reserve of control finally ran dry and John flung his P-90 aside to launch himself bodily at the group restraining Ronon. It was stupid, desperate, but John didn't care. He'd pull the bastards off with his bare hands if he had to. He never got close. Two of the guards intercepted his headlong rush and it felt like walking into a wall. He was grabbed by the arms, shoved down to his own knees, a dozen yards away.

"Ronon!"

Ronon shuddered harder. John could see a trickle of blood leak out of his friend's nose and ears. John struggled wildly, only managed to bruise his arms and shoulders against the vice-like grips of his attackers. Ronon was dying. Fuck them all, they were killing him.

This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. A stab of pain through his head slammed his eyes shut and John sagged against the hard hands holding him.

_This wasn't happening?_

Ronon screamed and John trembled behind closed eyes. He heard Ronon's last gasp. He heard a thud as his friend's body was released to collapse against the decking. John wouldn't look. Even when he felt himself being yanked to unsteady feet, he kept his eyes tightly shut.

"Your colleague was quite informative," a silver voice said, inches from his face. "We must be sure to mention his cooperation when we return to Atlantis and take back what is ours by right of inheritance. Go tell Oberoth that we have the IDC codes and 'gate address for Atlantis." Footsteps trailed away from the command.

"No," John whispered. Ronon wouldn't give in. He wouldn't compromise Atlantis, even upon pain of death. John himself was more likely to cave than Ronon. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't. He wouldn't believe anything. It wasn't real.

The thought brought a weird, instant calm. And the moment he relaxed, he was consumed with whispers. _It wasn't real. He wasn't alone. Ronon wasn't dead._

Like metal softening from repeated bending, the barriers in his memory were weakening. He felt the words flowing back into his mind, and more came with them. _Ori, Siren, Atlantis, fight, help was coming._

John opened his eyes to find the Asuran studying him. He smiled, no longer afraid. The replicator blinked and its blank brown eyes were suddenly a cold, deep blue that flashed with anger.

"I won't play with you any more, Siren," he whispered.

"Then you will die," the Asuran with Siren's eyes snarled. She shoved her replicator hand into John's forehead and he screamed with the pain of the invasion. The world melted and reformed around him.

It felt like an age before the pounding in his head faded to a mere, nauseating throb. He was still on his knees, still being held by the arms. But the ground underneath him was soft and damp. His arms were stretched out by burning roughness around his wrists. The sterile hum of the replicator city had faded into quiet tweets and twitters and rustles.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes. He blinked when the light burned into his throbbing head. Still squinting, he finally focused on the shadow waiting patiently before him.

"Kolya," John gasped. "I should have guessed."

The specter smiled as if pleased that John recognized him. He swung his gun-metal black machete in a playful arc.

"Last chance, Johnny boy. Are you gonna give me that I.D.C?"

John just laughed. The sound was low and manic even to his own ears. "This wasn't even real the first time, Siren. Try again."

"I didn't think so," Kolya grinned, as if acting out a part scripted before John changed the lines, and heaved his blade aloft. John cringed, despite every effort to tell himself it wasn't real. It had felt real the first time, too.

When the knife struck, he felt the blade grind against bone and he lurched to the right as the rope slipped off his left arm along with the hand. John curled around the stump, choking on the soft dirt and bark when he buried his face in the ground. He willed himself to pass out, to hide from the pain so Siren couldn't feel him feel it. It was rather easy to accomplish and the world went black with satisfying quickness.

Siren shrieked her rage, and yanked him instead into another scenario.

Again he resisted. Again he died. And again. And with each death John remembered a little more, and grew a little weaker. He found that he could endure the pain almost unnoticed, as if having felt so much, he wasn't capable of feeling any more. Siren's attempts to goad him into reaction grew more frantic and more devastating, but John wouldn't play. He wouldn't suffer for her. The angrier she grew, the calmer John became.

At long last, Siren flung him aside into the empty place and left him. He lay on the fabric of space too weak to move. When the aloneness began to unnerve him, he cracked his eyes open. The galaxy around him lay as placid as ever. The sea around Atlantis below him was stormy. The planet was covered in clouds and wind, but the city still floated, still glowing, undisturbed by the weather.

Curious he opened his hand to look at the threads of his life that he still held tightly. Only a glimmering handful remained. Alarmed, he sat up. The motion was easy, no prickles of tension held him down. _Were there so few left?_ Even as he watched, the threads that he clung to were dimming, losing their shimmer. He listened with desperate hope for the whisper and felt a pair of threads vibrating softly, but it was growing harder and harder to hear.

_It will take time, Sheppard. Help will come, but it will take time. Hold on. Please hold on…_

John curled his arms around his knees, wrapping himself around the threads to protect them. Weariness pressed him deeper into space. He felt thinner, somehow. Stretched thin. It was effort to hold his head up, and he dropped them to his knees as well, all the time listening for Siren. She was gone. Beyond his ability to sense.

The body down below shuddered with some lingering effect of Siren's abuse and one of the remaining threads tore away with a gentle tug.

"Come on, Teyla. Ronon, tell me what to do," he pleaded softly. Siren passed by, then left again. John curled tighter.

* * *

"Ronon, Teyla report to the control room."

Teyla jerked her head up from where she'd been asleep in the chair beside John's bed. Momentarily confused, she looked around the room to anchor herself. Ronon was pushing himself off the wall opposite her, looking as tired and confused as she. The laptop and printouts she'd been studying lay in an untidy pile beside the chair. A single, thin window in the tiny room still glowed with daylight – late afternoon by her guess – but the color was grey, overcast.

For a moment, she concentrated, looking for Siren's presence. The mood over the city had changed and the strange aura jolted her fully awake. It was no longer the gloating pleasure she'd felt as John manifested injury after injury. Neither was it the flash of rage that had brought the wall of water against them. The presence was simmering with frustration and something else that almost felt…sad. Like grief, only distorted and cruel.

"John," she breathed and lurched to her feet, stiff from the awkward nap.

"He's weak," Ronon said, managing to pack fury and deep concern into the short syllables. "He's had a bad few hours." Teyla looked at him in rebuke, and he just shrugged. "You were sleeping. Didn't want to wake you."

She slipped her hand into John's. His palm was tacky warm and his knuckles were paper rough, parchment yellowed.

"Ronon, Teyla, report to the control room," the command repeated.

"We should go."

They turned together to leave the small room when an anxious and unusually assertive Dr. Zimmer blocked their path. He stood in the doorway, his hands fluttering at his sides before he shoved them into his coat pockets.

"I must speak to you," he said.

"We have been summoned to the control room, Dr. Zimmer," Teyla replied dully, "perhaps when we return…"

"No, I need to speak with you now. Marie is taking a short break and I need to talk to you alone because she won't tell you what you need to know."

"Excuse me?" A flush of annoyance must have flickered over her face because Zimmer immediately raised his hands in a soothing motion.

"Marie means well. I intend no disrespect. She will tell you that the damage being inflicted upon Colonel Sheppard is decreasing over time. She will also say that once there is no new damage occurring, the Colonel will begin to heal. This is all true."

"So what's your point?" Ronon seemed less annoyed than Teyla at the man's intrusion and she wondered when the tall thin, dark-skinned doctor had made such an impression upon the usually skeptical Ronon.

"What you need to know is that while there is a slim chance for Colonel Sheppard to survive the injuries as they stand now, there is no hope for a complete recovery."

"What does that mean?" Teyla's voice was sharp.

"It means that the internal damage is too severe. Even if he lives, he will suffer long-term consequences to his health. He certainly won't be able to continue his duties on Atlantis. Ongoing dialysis is likely. Liver function is severely compromised and he may face the need for a transplant in the future. And those are only the most obvious projections for this level of trauma."

Zimmer's expression grew deeply compassionate and Teyla felt her eyes sting. The man's concern was more convincing than any medical jargon.

"I know how distressing this is. But in my particular specialty, I have learned that it does no one any good, not the patient or loved ones of the patient, to sugar-coat the truth. Marie is a fine and compassionate doctor. It's been a privilege to work with her. But she is…optimistic. She doesn't wish to alarm anyone before her superiors return. She…does not wish to concede the consequences yet."

"Then perhaps we should not be so quick to concede them either," Teyla snapped and shouldered her way past. She knew she was running from the truth. But this was _Atlantis_. City of the Ancestors. Miraculous things happened here. Zimmer himself had admitted he was new.

Ronon's soft "Thanks, doc," as he followed her did nothing to improve her confusion. She stayed well ahead of him, aware that he wished to speak with her, but she did not allow him the chance. When they reached the gate room, they jogged past the wide beautiful staircase towards Woolsey and Lorne who were gathered around the communications screen. The Stargate was gurgling placidly below with an active wormhole.

"There you are," Woolsey said, not unkindly, "We have only a few minutes left on this dialing, but I thought you'd want to hear the rest. Dr. McKay has something for us."

Teyla's heart leaped. She was already smiling as she reached the screen, grasping frantically at the mere words of hope to push away the turmoil. Rodney McKay was snapping his fingers impatiently at the other end of the communication. A research lab that Teyla recognized as one deep within the underground Stargate Control complex on Earth spread out behind him. He rolled his eyes in a gesture of impatience and started speaking before she had a chance to say hello.

"There, now. We're all here. Conference call complete. Can I please finish before you end up at the bottom of this Ori's personal fishbowl? Zelenka needs all the time he can get to implement the changes."

A muttering of Czech curses came from Teyla's left but she just felt even more reassured at Zelenka's act – Radek was just as relieved as she was.

"By all means, Rodney. Continue," she answered for all of them.

"Since your call yesterday, I have been going over everything the SGC has on the Ancients, and in particular, on the device Daniel Jackson built with the guidance of Merlin for the purpose of killing the Ori in their own galaxy. Unfortunately, Dr. Jackson has little recollection of building the device and even less memory of Merlin's thoughts as he was doing it. BUT, between the records they have been able to collect and what Jackson does recall, I think I've found a way to keep Siren out of the city. For a while, at least."

"That's wonderful. When can this be ready?"

Teyla was turning to Radek who took a breath as if to answer but was interrupted by Rodney who had leaned closer to the camera.

"It's not that simple. I mean, the changes to the shield are relatively simple – even Zelenka will probably be able to do it, the tricky part was digging the correct frequencies and subspace overtones out of Merlin's data. And we haven't been able to test it of course, but again, I think Zelenka may be able to come up with a simulation to confirm that the shield is generating…"

"Dr. McKay," Woolsey interrupted, "I have the same question as Teyla: How long will this take?"

Rodney shrugged, as usual a bit flustered when he has been knocked off the rails of a lengthy explanation, "I dunno. Radek, what do you think? About three hours? Four?"

"Certainly no longer than six hours," Radek confirmed, looking over the data flowing across the screen of the laptop he was sitting at with an expression of eagerness. "That is of course assuming you have calculated the harmonics correctly to produce the overtones you actually wish to create."

"Of course I've calculated them correctly. Just be sure you don't blow out the shield generators by letting feedback harmonics - ."

"Do you think I am idiot?! Of course I will be careful for – ."

"Gentlemen," Woolsey sighed. "I'm sure Dr. Zelenka will be able to handle implementation. Thank you Dr. McKay for your assistance. We have reached something of an…impasse here. This couldn't be more appreciated."

"Oh. Well, you're welcome. It was actually kindof lucky I'm on Earth. The SGC hasn't scanned in all of Merlin's documents yet. Having access to the originals has helped a great deal. But there's still one problem," he added hastily as if he was trying to avoid sidetracking himself again.

"Go on."

"Well, it's John. Colonel Sheppard."

Teyla and Ronon exchanged a startled look and they both took anxious steps closer to the screen.

"What do you mean?" Teyla demanded.

"He's ascended. Sort of. If you adjust the shields as I've described, the field will affect him, too. I think."

"He's still here. Under the shield," Ronon said, shaking his head.

"Yes, but we know he is partially existing within the plane that the Ori and the other Ancients live on. The shield adjustments won't create a shell of defense, like it does as usual. It will create a kind of Ori…repellant. The city will be enveloped in an uncomfortable noise, or vibration, or, or, static charge on that other plane. Any ascended who gets too close will feel like they're walking into a microwave oven. And as far as we know, Sheppard is close by. Maybe too close and tied to his body too tightly to avoid the effect."

"And if he is affected by it?" Woolsey asked.

"It won't kill a full ascended who can just run away. But if Sheppard can't escape or if it pushes his ascended mind too far from his physical body, then it might kill him."

"So you're saying that we can't turn on this Ori repellant unless Colonel Sheppard returns to his body."

"Or risk his life. Yes."

Uneasy looks were passed and there was a rustle as the implications sunk in.

Teyla felt like her last shred of hope had been taken from her hands and torn into confetti. Rodney's solution might defend them, but it offered no help for John. She wrapped her arms around her waist and willed herself to remain standing. Woolsey took a deep breath and Teyla was grateful that the man had grown so comfortable in his leadership.

"We will take your concern…seriously," he said. "You have about five more minutes before the wormhole collapses. Please take all that you need to complete your instructions. And, thank you again."

Woolsey nodded a farewell and left to pull Lorne aside into deep conversation that Teyla was certain involved their plans for using McKay's shield modifications, despite its potential for harm. Rodney and Zelenka exchanged a few spats of technobabble and then she was left alone in front of the screen with Ronon. Rodney looked through the camera past them and his expression suddenly shed every shadow of arrogance. He leaned a little closer to his camera, as if embarrassed about being overheard.

"Teyla, Ronon, um, how's…how's John?" he asked with the simple concern of a friend.

"He's bad," Ronon stated softly.

"He's very weak and the injuries continue to manifest," Teyla confirmed. She wouldn't yet speak of the prospect of permanent damage. She, too, was not ready to concede. That, or she was too cowardly to face it.

"I was afraid of that. I wish…" Rodney trailed off and looked away.

"I know John would welcome your presence," Teyla soothed, guessing at Rodney's distress, "but I also know he understands the vast distance that separates you from being here."

Rodney just jerked his head, unconvinced. The three friends stood for a moment in quiet companionship. They were John's team. His closest friends. The threat of his permanent absence from that unit of friendship seemed almost too painful to bear. Hopelessness momentarily overwhelmed her and she found herself blurting out, "Rodney, do you know… could John be able to ascend? Fully."

To her surprise, Rodney _wasn't_ surprised by her question.

"I've thought about that. The Ancients managed to ascend by evolving their synaptic connection to ninety-six percent and meditating in the range that Sheppard's hovering in now. He's got the E.E.G. right, but not the 96 percent."

"So how's he even doing it halfway?"

"My guess is that the presence of another ascended being can influence ascension. I've talked to Dr. Jackson. He wasn't really eager to tell me a whole lot, but he did say that ascendeds can help mortals do it. That was how he did it. Twice."

"So…could Siren's presence enable John to ascend?"

Rodney gave the question consideration. "Like I said, I assume that Siren's presence is somehow linked to John's current situation, so perhaps. I greatly suspect it depends on whether or not Siren wants him to ascend."

"I do not want him to ascend," Teyla replied softly and Rodney just shrugged. A soft beep sounded from the DHD and Ronon thumped her on the arm.

"Thirty seconds before the wormhole collapses."

"Goodbye Rodney. However it turns out, thank you for your assistance."

"Yes, of course. Hey, say something to John for me. Tell him…well, tell him I'm sorry I'm not there. And that he's a good friend. I'm thinking of him."

"I'll tell him," Ronon replied firmly.

"Ok. Good. Goodbye."

The wormhole collapsed with a faint slurp and the screen sparkled with an instant of electronic snow before it snapped to black. She stared into the monitor that had suddenly become a mirror, shimmering with her own haggard, exhausted expression. She caught the reflection of a soldier shoving his way towards Lorne and Woolsey, but didn't think anything of it until Ronon stiffened beside her.

"Something's up," he said.

By the time they had walked the few steps to the communications console, the soldier was jogging off the platform with Lorne on his heels and Woolsey was slapping at the buttons that would bring his voice to the entire city.

"Attention all personnel, this is Richard Woolsey. We are now under high alert, code alpha red. Begin gathering in designated common areas, further instructions will be issued shortly."

"What is it? What's happened?" Teyla demanded the instant Woolsey closed the connection.

"Security just reported three dead expedition members. Dr. Simmons was found alone in his quarters. The others were two Marines involved in a murder/suicide incident just a few minutes ago. Lorne's gone to try to calm things down."

"Siren is in the city," she breathed. "She's playing her games with us."

"So it appears. As we've discussed over the past few days, we're going to assume that it will be more difficult for the Ori to manipulate people if they are amidst a crowd." He turned away to address Dr. Zelenka. When he spoke, she heard the barest hint of apology in his voice and his shoulders were slumped, "Radek, please make the modifications to the shield as quickly as possible. And let me know when they are complete."

"Richard…" Teyla began.

"We will activate it as soon as you are ready, doctor," Woolsey said over her objection. "I'm sure Colonel Sheppard would agree," he added softly. "We have no choice."


	13. Chapter 13

Siren flung herself away from the bodies of the mortal soldiers and scoffed. They were easy, simple. There was a pleasant flavor of strength and courage about their deaths, but they weren't...him.

She wandered the halls of the Ancient city and followed her desires to the body of the man. His mind was still beyond, huddled on her plane, beaten down by her play and weakened by the damage to his mortal flesh. And yet, he still vibrated with defiance. He had bent her barriers and fought through to memories of his life. The persistence of his rebellion was as thrilling as it was maddening.

The mortal body that lay before her was fading. The mortals that came to the room to care for it passed by, unaware that she lingered here. When the body failed, the spirit would, too, and he would fade from both her plane and the mortal world. She had never felt...loss before. She had never felt anything but rage at a desire denied her. She had never coveted a mortal life like this one.

She reached out and focused her presence over the body, commanding it to heal as she had once healed it on her own world. A few cells responded, there was a slight improvement in strength. But the damage had been caused by those mystical links between mind and flesh, and was reinforced by the energies of her plane. She could not heal him. No ascended could. She had made her choice when she brought him to her rather than dallying within the mortal planes.

Anger flared. She desired him. And when he died her desire would go unfulfilled. Not only unfulfilled, but tainted. No mortal could please her again because of him. He was to blame. She felt him stir, reacting to her mood. She felt his concern as he began to realize where she was, she felt when concern flared into anger as he puzzled together what she had done to his soldiers.

"Siren!" he called, pushing himself up.

She felt him fighting his weakness and she shivered. She hated him. She loved him. He would please her again before he died. She would wipe this place clean of the knowledge of him. She would kill every mortal in this galaxy who had known him. She alone would carry his memory. The storms on the planet swirled and crackled with her oath. Rain pummeled the mainland and mudslides tore gouges in precarious earth leaving behind raw, bare mud.

"Leave them alone. I'm the one you want. Come play with me if you need a fix."

Siren rose to stand before him. He threw up a pitiful mental shield, but she could see him shaking from the effort. He clung to his life threads behind his defense and she smiled, slow and smug.

"We will play. One last time."

* * *

The city began to sway with the roiling waves that flowed underneath its bubble of protection. Teyla watched the monitor in the control room swirl with white foam as the crew kept the scanners focused on the storms raging across the planet. It WAS rage - pure hatred being manifested into physical form. And it was a rage that felt...final, somehow. There was a feeling of closure in the anger. Siren had made her decision, whatever that was.

She grabbed for a console when another sickening sway threatened to unsteady her. The inertial dampeners were turned to the limit, but they were not calibrated for the gentle-by-comparison shifts of the city over rough seas. Ronon had gone below to help Lorne deal with the chaos of Siren's attack on his men, far more distressing through the nature of the attack than if she had simply struck them down. Woolsey stood close by, and she also saw him reach for a solid object and swallow hard against the sense of vertigo.

"Dr. Zelenka, how long before the shield modifications are complete?" Woolsey had the sound of a man trying very hard not to sound alarmed.

"Very soon. I am taking the time to make sure that the shield will remain at full strength while we switch to the modified frequencies so we are not unprotected during the transition. When that simulation is complete, we will be ready to activate the modifications. Twenty minutes. It will take another several minutes for the harmonics to build up a full resonance in the Ori plane-space, but the protection will grow exponentially during that time."

"Good," Woolsey muttered in reply looking nervously at the ceiling as the city swayed again.

"Richard, are you certain there is no other choice?"

Woolsey looked stricken, but his answer was firm, "We cannot let this Ori kill more of our people in cold blood."

She knew that. She also knew that John would go to any lengths, take any risk to save even one life. She was haunted by his quiet words of only a few months ago. _"You'd do the same for me,"_ he'd said, shrugging off her deep gratitude for pulling her and her baby off Michael's ship. She felt his trust betrayed. And yet, she also knew he would gladly give the order to activate the shield.

"Then I'm going to the infirmary to be with Colonel Sheppard."

"I understand," Woolsey replied sympathetically, not rising to the bait of the sharpness of her tone. "I will join you as soon as the modifications are complete."

The gesture surprised Teyla, and she nodded in gratitude before hurrying down the steps. She had just touched the gateroom floor when the city lurched and alarms buzzed briefly in the control up above.

"We're getting knocked around, sir!" a technician shouted, the loudness a sign of controlled fear. "That jolt was caused by a massive wind sheer and really strange waves."

"Sir! We've got reports of lightening within the shield. The North tower and the residential tower were struck. Injuries are reported in the residential common area. Infirmary is responding." The second report tumbled over the railing to Teyla's ears, overlapping the first in panicky efficiency.

"Understood. Zelenka, can you get the modifications running any sooner?"

"I will truncate the simulation. Give me five minutes."

"The sooner the better, doctor."

Teyla stood frozen at the bottom of the steps, torn between returning to the control room to help with the crisis within the city and going to John. John's words whispered in her mind again, and she turned into the hallway towards the infirmary without another look back.

"Ronon," she called into her radio, her voice sounding breathy and choked despite her best efforts at control, "They are about to turn on the shield modifications. I'm returning to the infirmary..." she trailed off, not wishing to make demands of him, but desperately needing his solid presence at her side.

"I'm on my way," he replied simply.

She couldn't stop the shield from going up but she could be with John when it did. She would stay with him until the bitter end, whatever the end. The city lurched again and she braced herself against the corridor wall before pushing off and breaking into a jog. John would willingly sacrifice himself to save them, and that thought alone kept her from screaming at Woolsey and Zelenka to wait, to find another way.

She slammed her hand into the controls that would engage the transporter and slumped against the wall for an instant before the flash sent her to the infirmary corridor. She just hoped that John's sacrifice would not be in vain.

* * *

"Leave them ALONE," John yelled, feeling fury charge his body with a kind of crackling energy that was as powerful as it was dangerous. The planet below them seethed with Siren's emotions. Storms and hurricanes swirled over the surface in random gusts of fury. Already, much of the mainland was flooded. The vast ocean roiled with waves that rose up out of the depths to strike the shores with destruction.

Siren only grew more pleased at his frustration and tossed another tsunami towards the tiny bubble of his city. John threw himself in the unnatural wave's path and waved a gust of wind at the shield to blow the city further out of harm's way. His fingers slipped on the threads in his hand and he readjusted his grip in desperation.

That tiny moment of distraction was enough for Siren to skitter under the shield and create a sizzling charge of lightning that she sent into the city. John saw the bolts slam against the beautiful architecture of his home. Glass shattered. Screams of fear and pain rose up.

Fury became rage and John lashed out at Siren. The crackling bolts of his own anger caught her in surprise and pushed her far from Atlantis. He reveled in her astonishment. He even tasted the slightest admission of fear as she pulled herself up and circled him at a distance. Panting from the exertion of his surprising display, he huddled himself protectively around the city, gathered his threads carefully into his lap and watched her - ready to push her back again if she dared come closer. Help was coming. He would keep her away as long as it took. He would protect the city.

"You are weak," she whispered, still circling. "Your life is fading. Your mortal body is dying."

"It will live long enough," he said with a shrug.

"Long enough to see your friends die along with it. You cannot hold me back forever. I brought you here."

John felt a tickle of fear and cursed himself. She knew his weakness. He knew it, too. He just didn't care.

"I don't need to hold you back forever. Just long enough for some friends to come along and help out."

He felt Siren go still and he felt another thrill. Maybe he shouldn't have told her about the help coming after all.

"The Others are coming?" she whispered.

"That's what I heard," he said and held up the threads briefly. "Turns out those mortals down there are more clever than you give them credit for. They've talked to my friends up here. Help is on the way. They'll be here...uh, any minute so if you don't want a serious ascention kicking, you'd better take off now. Get a head start and all. I hear the next galaxy over is unpopulated. Go jack yourself off there."

For a long moment in which John's hope began to leap out of bounds, Siren hesitated. Maybe she would run, leave them alone to save herself. He clutched his threads tightly and glanced with longing into the city.

"You wish to return to them," Siren said at last, startling John that she'd read his thoughts so easily.

"Not yet."

"You would die for them?"

"Yes."

"You would rather die with them?"

"Look, I'd rather nobody have to die at all, if you really want to get down to it."

Siren was quiet again for a long time and it was completely unnerving. John shifted uneasily around the city and the calm water around the piers rippled in agitation.

"You...please me," she said to John's utter shock. This conversation was really creeping him out. But when she was talking she wasn't attacking the city.

"You have no idea how much I regret that," he answered, unable to muster the energy to play along. She was right about being weak. He needed to hold onto the anger.

"I wish to give you something before you die."

"How about you let me go home and I never see you again. That sounds like the perfect present."

"I will leave," she said and John fought down astonishment. There had to be a catch.

"I will leave," she repeated, "and I will let you die with your mortal friends. I will feel them comfort you, and then I will soothe their grief. I will make their deaths easy."

Hell of a catch, he thought, fighting down panic. "Really, as gifts go, that one pretty much sucks. Maybe we can work out a different plan. One that doesn't involve all the dying and grief."

"I will miss you...John."

He stood up, bracing himself. This was going all wrong. "Maybe you should hang around after all. Maybe we can talk to the Others, work out a deal. I'll put in a good word, I promise!"

He was babbling, stalling. Siren stalked closer and he felt her resolve. An eerie kind of resolve mixed with a wholly disturbing affection.

"Stay back! Leave them alone," he shouted. He felt her brace for a pounce and he flung the crackling energy at her again. This time the bolts were tinged with terror. Siren blocked the attack, forced the bolts back and drew nearer. John flung his mind at her again. Again she deflected the energies.

He fell to his knees, panting. He couldn't keep her back. He was too weak. But he could protect the city. He curled himself tightly around it and threw up a shield. Siren's attack of energy licked around his consciousness and spun away into nothingness, leaving the city gently swaying within his embrace. She attacked his shield again, and it faded a little more. He pulled himself more tightly around Atlantis. He didn't have to hold her off forever, just until help arrived.

"Goodbye, John," Siren whispered.

Before he could wonder at the words, she pounced and surrounded him with her own consciousness. He was completely enveloped by her being and his shield failed. She pressed even closer. Had he had a body, he would have retched at the cold, sick affection of the embrace. He struggled, desperate to shake free.

A steady, dulling pressure began to crush his consciousness and he fought harder. But she was like a heavy weight - he felt like he was suffocating under an avalanche of snow. He felt himself being shoved away from the galaxy of light and an inkling of understanding threw him into a renewed frenzy of struggle.

"No! Let me stay! I'll go with you. I'll do anything you want. Don't hurt them!"

"Goodbye."

The pressure became unbearable and he was shoved through a tingling barrier of existence. It was like dying, or being born, and he writhed at the agony of forced return.

Everything went black and then he was engulfed in white and noise. He felt himself taking deep, desperate breaths, and marveled at the feeling of real air passing through his throat. He heard the real panic of voices and wailing alarms. He opened his eyes and the white was replaced by bronze, the soothing colors of Atlantis.

He felt warm hands on his arms. He heard words being spoken to him, but they could not compete with the growing terror in his mind.

"Oh, no," he whispered, only the words weren't real. His mortal lips were too dry and his chest hurt too badly to force enough air through them. Siren had sent him back into his body, but it wasn't the body he'd left days and days ago. It was dying. He was dying.

And when he did, Siren would destroy the city.


	14. Chapter 14

Teyla reached the infirmary at a near run. The city had miraculously stopped swaying and her steps were steady. Ronon reached the door to John's room at the same moment and they entered together. With unconscious agreement, they positioned themselves on either side of John and stood for a quiet moment.

"How long?" Ronon asked.

"Radek will turn on the shield modifications soon."

Teyla closed her eyes and felt for the presence. Some small part of her was searching for John. If she could only contact him, warn him of the danger. Only Siren's mercurial presence was open to her and it was struggling with grief. Surprised, Teyla looked closer at John, then scanned the monitoring devices around him, suddenly worried that Siren knew more than they did. What would cause such a cruel being to grieve?

The grief surged and John's heart monitor began to beep rapidly a moment before he began to thrash wildly. The bed rattled and she reached for John's arm to hold his arching back into the mattress. Ronon snatched for the other arm and they remained in place even while Marie and the weary emergency crew returned, yet again, to the room.

"Did they turn it on?" Ronon growled through the effort of holding John down.

"No. Radek is finishing up. I told him I would give the order from here," Woolsey replied entering the room and speaking over the din of alarms. The nurses and doctors were milling around, but they seemed at a loss as to how to respond.

John gave a great gasp, and stopped shuddering although the heart monitor continued to beat frantically. Teyla could feel the pounding pulse through her fingertips as they pressed against John's wrist. She held her own breath when John's eyes suddenly fluttered open.

"Ronon! His eyes!" She blurt out the words then scanned the machines again, looking for the correct one. "Marie! The EEG!"

Marie shoved closer and made a small sound of surprise. "His brain function has returned to nearly normal rates."

"He's back," Ronon rumbled in approval. Woolsey moved closer.

"Doctor, are you saying the Colonel has returned to consciousness?"

"His readings are consistent with a conscious state," Marie confirmed.

Teyla was only half-listening. Her hands still on John's shoulder, she leaned over his face to drink in the sight of his fluttering expression. His eyes blinked a few times, then flicked over the ceiling above him. He looked like someone trying to figure out where he was.

"John, you're home. You're on Atlantis. You've come back," she murmured. He didn't respond to her voice but his eyes went wide with some internal discovery. Tears sprung to her own eyes as pain flooded his. He gasped again, and threw his head weakly into the pillow. His body arched, and his heart spiked to new levels of pain-induced speed. His lips moved around some word, but he made no sound.

"Dr. Zelenka, have you completed the modifications?"

Teyla heard Woolsey make the request into his own radio; she heard the relief in his voice, she heard him assume that the shield was no longer a threat to John. He was about to order the modifications turned on.

"Teyla..."

The word was so soft, that she frowned in a moment of confusion before she realized that it was John who had spoken. Joy and terror competed for her attention. She leaned close, laid her hand against his cheek to help him focus. His fluttering eyes landed on her face and he squinted in concentration. Ronon also leaned close and she spared him a quick glance of concern.

"I'm here, John. Ronon is here, too. You're home," she repeated, but the last seemed to agitate John rather than soothe him.

"Go...back," he forced out in harsh rasps.

"It's OK. We have a way to keep Siren out of the city. Now that you're back, we can turn the shield on safely.

"No. She'll...destroy...city."

Teyla swallowed back her own fear, "We'll be fine. You just worry about recovering. We'll protect you."

"NO!" John grew more agitated, and he was consumed briefly by a wave of pain that drew his body again into rigid shudders. Teyla could see him struggle with the pain, force it down. His arm twitched under her hands and he twisted to wrap his hand around her instead.

"She'll destroy...planet," he panted, every word an act of will. "Go...back."

"Teyla," Ronon said. She heard the question in his voice. John was watching her, holding her in his desperate gaze. Across the bed from her, Woolsey spoke again.

"Acknowledged. Well done, Dr. Zelenka. Bring the modifications online."

Dr. Zimmer sidled into the room, his face solemn. Marie was fussing with the scanner. Teyla looked away from John's pleading stare to look at the blinking monitors. She knew nothing about what the numbers and lines and beeps meant, but every single bit of data and tone of vigilance seemed to be telling her the one thing she did not wish to hear.

"Teyla," John whispered.

"Wait!" she called out, reaching out to Woolsey to gain his attention.

"Belay that order," he quipped quickly looking surprised. Teyla was emboldened by his trust in her command. "What is the matter?"

"We must not turn on the shield, yet."

"Why not? Colonel Sheppard has returned. Turning on the defense will have no harmful effects to him."

"The shield will keep Siren out of the city. It will not protect us from her destroying the planet around us."

"I suppose that is true, but that would be the case with the shield on as easily as without it on."

"But if the shield is on, John..." she trailed off, then forced herself to continue, "John will not be able to return to her plane to defend us."

"Return?" Woolsey was completely dumbfounded. "I don't understand."

"Teyla," Ronon interjected, his voice low with warning and anguish. Teyla held John's hand fiercely, felt him return the grip although he held her more from pain than in an effort to communicate. A cold presence fell upon the room and she shuddered. She could feel Siren nearby, watching. Watching John.

"John must ascend, Richard," she blurted out before she lost courage again. "Chaya warned us that the only way to defeat Siren and save John was for John to ascend. Fully. The shield must stay down for him to do this."

Woolsey was shaking his head against shock. "This is highly irregular. My understanding has been that we were searching for a way to return Colonel Sheppard to his physical form. Now that he has, you're suggesting -."

"He's dying, Richard. The only way to save him is to let him ascend. To help him ascend." Teyla soft interruption brought a silence to the room so thick that the tension could almost be weighed in her hands. She turned back to John to find him panting against the destruction of his body, but she could see the concentration in his brow, the determination. He was trying to return, to get back to Siren before the capricious being carried out her threat against the city - the threat John was communicating with every frantic attempt to get back. Conversation swirled around her, but she readjusted her grip on John's hand, bent to whisper in his ear, ignoring the stress around her.

_"Marie, is this true? Are Colonel Sheppard's injuries life-threatening?"_

_"We don't know that. We have not completed the scans since his EEG rhythms have corrected. His heart and respiratory rates have been irregular for the past several minutes, but we have no reason to believe -."_

_"Marie, don't pad the truth. They need to know what they're dealing with."_

_"Dr. Zimmer, you are not the primary physician on this case."_

_"I don't need to be to see that we have been ignoring the long-term implications of -."_

_"Doctors, please."_

Teyla shut out the rest of the room, and continued her murmuring encouragement in John's ear. Ronon also bent close, clapped John on the shoulder.

"Give her hell, Sheppard. Come back when you're done."

Teyla watched John shudder with effort. His brow sparkled with beads of concentration, and a low moan escaped his throat as he writhed against another surge of pain. His back arched and the heart monitor stuttered before it sang out a warning and began painting a straight line across the screen.

The argument ceased abruptly and Marie leaped for the defibrillator, calling for her staff.

"No," Teyla said firmly, despite the sob that choked her throat. "He's trying to ascend. You have to let him ascend. We have to let him go."

She felt tears streaming down her face, but she stood her ground when Marie tried to push her aside. She held onto John's hand, and pulled it to her chest. There was a mild scuffle across from her as Ronon also held the well-meaning staff away from his side.

"I will not be held accountable, Mr. Woolsey," Marie snapped, her own voice cracking in distress before she fled the room. Teyla felt her heart break for the compassionate woman and knew that Marie only meant the best for her patient. She understood. It was agony standing here, letting John die.

"Teyla are you certain?" Woolsey sounded more unsure than she'd ever heard him sound.

She only nodded through her tears. Dr. Zimmer moved to the heart monitor and turned off the alarm, sending the room into anxious silence. He then moved to stand beside her, resting his own hand on John's blanketed knee. Woolsey drew close, closing the circle.

John's hand was limp against her. There was no motion, no pulse. Doubt began to seep into her chest. Her tears flowed hot against her face.

"Teyla, this is taking too long," Ronon said at last with a nervous look through the door, telegraphing his doubt and a desire for Marie to return with the gesture.

A wave of fury swept through the room. Teyla's gaze jerked towards the ceiling. Siren's anger was building. The city lurched underneath them and distant alarms sounded.

"Dr. Zelenka, bring the shield modifications online immediately," Woolsey slapped at his ear and gave the order without looking at Teyla.

"Modifications online," came Zelenka's swift reply. "The effect will reach full potency in about five minutes."

Siren's anger only grew more frustrated. Teyla's fear grew deeper. Ronon spun in a tight circle before grabbing for John's shoulder in a fierce grip. He leaned over his head.

"You can do it, Sheppard," he hissed. "Stop hanging around here and go kick the _stanga's_ ass. We need your help. If you don't stop her, we're dead, Sheppard."

"Ronon!" Teyla rebuked, startled at the demanding words.

"He won't do it for himself. He won't do it to save himself."

She looked into his eyes and saw his certainty in the claim; she caught a glimpse of the truth he had puzzled out about their friend.

"It's taking too long, Teyla," he added in a whisper, thick with fear. She too, bent over and stroked John's hair back from his slick, pale face.

"John, you must ascend. You must fight. You can return when you are done. We will wait for you. Do not be afraid."

The city shuddered again and the lights flickered, leaving them in dim, cloudy light for a moment.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: And we now return to the beginning of the end. I have the rest written out with the exception of the last tiny bits and editing. I should be able to post the next three installments in rapid succession, so here is a tiny taste to whet the appetite and get everyone settled back on the couch for the grand finale. Or just 'finale' at the least. Many thanks and enjoy._

* * *

John stood in an empty place.

It was a good place, away from noise and fear and pain. He remembered pain and moved deeper into the place. A golden galaxy of light spread out around him, but dimly - as if he were looking through a veil, or had something in his eyes. Suspecting the latter, he scrubbed his face and was surprised to feel wetness dampen his fingertips.

Some sound drew his attention from studying the moisture and he looked towards the galaxy. The sound was not pleasant but rather a jarring buzz of irritation that grew louder the longer he stood still. When he backed away from the sound, he stumbled. He was weak and tired...so very tired.

A drowsy coolness settled on him, and he shivered at the pleasant sensation. He would just go to sleep. If he slept, the noise would not disturb him. He sat down, drew his legs together. He felt himself sinking, dissolving into the nothingness - or through the nothingness. At least it was quiet there; and there was no pain.

It wasn't until he bent to rest his head in his hands that he noticed he was holding onto something. Puzzled, he looked at the dirty little threads that he held in his hand.

He was even more surprised when they vibrated a little, speaking to him from somewhere else - from the place of pain. Confused, he tugged them closer to his ear.

_We need your help..._

He stood up again, the motion far more difficult than he'd anticipated.

_You must ascend..._

He looked at the galaxy that had grown even dimmer. He couldn't go there. There was noise and...something he had to do. Alarmed, remembering only that some task must be completed, he stumbled towards the galaxy. It seemed to retreat from him, as quickly as he walked towards it. The buzzing grew louder, but his urgency grew in equal measure.

He was supposed to get to the galaxy. He needed to help someone there. He broke into a run, but he felt like he was running in water; like he was in a dream that he could only wake up from if he made it to the light.

_Leave your threads behind..._

John stopped, panting, and looked at his hand. Two dull, frayed, threads were all that remained of his life. They were worn but intricately woven, the material made of the finest stuff. He...he couldn't let go. He'd lose them, forever.

_Don't be afraid..._

The thread warmed his palm and he looked at the retreating galaxy. It was shrieking with uncomfortable noise and almost beyond reach. Almost. Why did he want to get there, anyway?

_Because the Sevagnet will destroy your home and your friends. You must let go and become more than you are. You are not alone. You will not be alone._

Slowly, John held out his hand. He lifted his fingers one by one. The threads slipped out and vanished. He was completely cut adrift. The galaxy was a tiny point of light, but he was no longer dragging the past behind him. He ran - into the noise, into the light.

When he reached the threshold, the shrieking was almost too much to bear, but he had nowhere else to go except back to the nothing. He gathered himself for a leap of faith, and took one more step.

* * *

"Teyla, Ronon, I'm so sorry."

Woolsey's voice was distant. He sounded like a man who had nothing but formal words to fall upon.

"I don't understand," Teyla whispered. John's hand slipped from her grasp and fell with a gentle thump against the sheets. She braced herself against the bed and closed her eyes. It wasn't supposed to be this way. She'd been wrong. How could she have been so wrong?!

She didn't even have any tears for her grief. There was only emptiness where there should have been hope and a growing warmth of shame on her face.

"Teyla!"

She jerked off the bed at Ronon's shout, startled by the harsh volume. And then she jerked another step backwards as the source of the warmth she'd felt expanded into a blinding white light and bathed the entire room in heat. John's motionless body was engulfed in the brilliance and disappeared within the expanding glow.

Teyla squinted and threw up a hand to shade her eyes. She did not want to look away. She needed to be sure. Her eyes watered from the effort of forcing them open, but she saw the moment when the light transformed from omni directional whiteness into a soft yellow, many rayed shape. The wispy, glowing thing shivered, then shot upwards through the ceiling, trailing streams of light behind it.

The room seemed almost dim by comparison once the being - once John - was gone.

"Well, I'll be..." Woolsey muttered, sounding relieved.

"He did it," Ronon agreed, his voice husky. Teyla understood his confliction. John had ascended, but he was gone. He had shed his body and moved on. How was that any different than death?

Dr. Zimmer gave her a happy pat on her shoulder, shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled out of the room. Teyla could just see him searching the outer infirmary before he spotted Marie hovering nearby and made a beeline for her. She was glad that Zimmer had thought to reassure the compassionate doctor.

A sudden jolt under their feet and a gentle sway of the city jolted Woolsey out of the stupor they were all feeling. He tugged on his jacket.

"Now," he said, "let's hope Colonel Sheppard doesn't forget why he needed to accomplish that particularly spectacular feat. I'm returning to the control room in case Siren manages to throw a few last surprises our way before the Colonel kicks her ass."

Ronon managed an eyebrows up look of surprise before Woolsey jogged out. Teyla suddenly felt weak, shaky. She sank onto the empty hospital bed and rested her hand on the crumpled sheet over the place where John's chest had been. She stared, unseeing, into the floor. Ronon called her name softly. She heard his footsteps travel around to her side, felt his hand snatch hers up in a fierce squeeze.

"Hey, why're you so worried? Sheppard will take care of the Ori. Especially now that he's one of those things."

"Siren is very powerful. I fear for John, even with his new...abilities."

"The other Ancients will be here soon, too."

"I know."

"And then he can come back. That Jackson guy did. I read the reports."

Teyla was silent and she could feel Ronon's stare on her face.

"Teyla?"

She rolled her head in frustration then suddenly understood her hidden distress.

"What if he...doesn't _want_ to come back?" she asked softly. "What if we've lost him forever?"

The city lurched again.


	16. Chapter 16

John swam through the shrieking, wailing noise like a drowning swimmer towards the surface. When he finally passed through to the calm, open galaxy beyond, he glided to a halt to look back. As the echoes of Atlantis' modified shield faded from his consciousness, memory flooded back to him, along with more understanding than he could possibly process. He was ascended!

He existed fully as a creature of energy in a place where thought and action were one and the same. The feeling was like no physical feeling he'd ever experienced. It was like an adrenaline rush to beat all rushes. It was like being high without the clouded mind. He was powerful, and he was drunk with that power.

It was...awesome!

He turned and felt for Siren, hatred tingling in his extremities. He had some payback to attend to and he waved a hand at a stand of ancient trees on the mainland, just to see them bend at his thought. The trees swayed and twisted with the force of his presence, then ripped themselves out of the ground to fly like so much kindling.

"Whoops," he whispered, surprised at the extreme result of what had been an impulsive act. He caught a sudden inkling of why the Ancients usually meditated so damn much before ascending. He was an infant - a rouge with too much power than he was really capable of handling. He probably shouldn't be here at all. But he had a job to do. The thought finally focused his rather manic agitation and he turned to the task of kicking some butt.

He didn't have far to look. Before he'd even thought about what he would do when he did find her, Siren was there. She stood nearby, wrapped in fiery garments that she had knitted from the grief and terror and torture she had wrought upon him these long days.

From his new perspective, John saw a much more daunting adversary than he'd imagined. She was powerful, and ancient, with millennia of experience to feed her cruelty. She filled the space around her with glowing malice and studied him with a scrutiny that was as intimidating as her presence. He suddenly didn't feel quite so cocky.

Siren moved to circle him, as one might look to inspect a new outfit. Her train of power trailed behind her with alarming length. He could tell she was impressed, and - he shivered with disgust - pleased. She displayed not a shred of fear.

"I did not think to see you again, John Sheppard."

"I'm just full of surprises."

"Your friends have found a way to push me out of the city."

"I told you they were clever."

"And I told you I would destroy them."

"Technically you were going to do that after I died. So, therefore, _technically_, you can't kill them. I didn't die." Siren laughed and her careless amusement was disturbing.

"But you did. You are dead to them. You are more than they could ever become. You are better than they will ever be. They will mourn your mortal life, and then forget you."

"No, I...I can go back."

"Why? You can do so much good here. Think of the mortals you can protect. Think of the enemies you could destroy. You will tire of hovering over a handful who remembers you only as a sorrowful memory."

"I won't need to hover when you're dead," he snarled and lunged for her.

She whirled and was somewhere else before his clumsy snatch came close.

"I cannot die," she replied casually. She flung her mind at him and he was shoved from the force of it far from the planet to land in a sprawl against the hard fabric of space. Fearful, guessing her game, he launched himself back and threw himself around the planet where, sure enough, Siren had already begun her mischief.

The fragile world frothed underneath his sheltering consciousness, the oceans were steaming. Siren chuckled from where she watched as he strained with the concentration it took to prevent the sea from evaporating spontaneously into a miles thick layer of fog. With an effort he found alarming, he finally settled the waters, leaving behind only a thin layer of mists.

"I won't let you hurt them," he panted, not daring to move from his protective stance despite his ferocious desire to attack. He was rapidly discovering that his heady powers were far from a match for Siren's ancient malevolence. "I'll kill you before I let you hurt them."

"You cannot kill me," she repeated and sent another attack against the planet, this one through John himself. He felt like he was being stabbed and he flinched. The projectile of thought slammed into the northern hemisphere and splashed up an enormous tsunami, larger even than the wave Atlantis had encountered on their last world.

John threw his hands around the tiny city and let the wave wash against them, creating a tiny cove of calm waters within his grasp. The buzzing shield defenses left an uncomfortable tingle in his fingers and he pulled away as soon as the wave had passed on. Siren had already used the distraction to her advantage. A swarm of asteroids, most about the size of his puddle jumpers had been nudged into the upper atmosphere from the solar system's debris belt. They were already painting hot streaks through the sky and left smoky trails as they pelted towards the unprotected surface.

John froze for a split second, immobilized by alarm. There were too many! He couldn't possibly swat all of them away before some would strike land and sea and maybe even Atlantis itself. He reached for the nearest of them anyway, then hesitated, another thought flashing into existence.

He was ascended but he was still thinking like a mortal. He'd seen Siren manipulate nature on a vast scale. A wild notion bloomed and John forgot the individual projectiles and stretched his hands instead around the whole planet. He held his breath, knowing that if he got it wrong he would kill everything there as surely as Siren, and squeezed - just a bit.

The outer layers of the planet's atmosphere began to heat and compress just slightly. The jumper-asteroids glowed even more brightly and shed their mass even more quickly. He pressed a little more. The rocks that were highest in the atmosphere shattered and crumbled into harmless bits. The majority of the rest dwindled into tiny, bullet-sized nuggets - not exactly harmless, but no longer a threat to Atlantis's strong shield should any manage a direct strike.

It was the last handful that had made it through more or less intact was worrying him. He couldn't risk heating deeper into the atmosphere and the chunks that had survived re-entry were large enough to be very scary. Leaving the outer planet to cool, he lunged for these last individual meteors with trembling hands. He managed to swat two back into space. He just barely caught a third with his fingertips, slowing down its velocity just enough to prevent the impact from creating an ice age. Instead, it took out a significant chunk of a rocky mountain. Rockslides and dust consumed several hundred miles of the mainland. _Only_ several hundred miles, John thought, just barely relieved.

He reached for the last flaming meteor with a small sigh of relief. He knew he had just enough time to slow its impact as well. An instant before his fingers made contact, the projectile jerked wildly and streaked off on a completely different trajectory.

"Siren!" John swore and lunged again. It had changed course towards Atlantis and seemed to be gaining speed as it drifted on an unnatural angle. He stretched the full length of his mind and almost reached the rock's glowing surface before he was slammed in the side by a thought from Siren. He reeled, spinning further away.

"No!" he yelled, flailing helplessly against his own momentum.

The meteor shifted its angle one last time and fell at devastating speed through the last thousand miles - directly towards the city.

"No!" he screamed again and lashed out at Siren with all the rage of desperation. She was engulfed in crackling blue flames but she raised one hand to ward off the blast and with the other held John away from Atlantis. He struggled against the force keeping him back. He was desperate to stop the meteor, but Siren's stronger mind pushed him relentlessly away.

Unable to get there himself John flung his mind at the wind as Siren seemed to do so easily. He managed to fan the meteor into a brighter glow, but he didn't have the control to cushion the descent.

"Let me go!"

He watched the meteor blaze closer and closer, unable to stop it, knowing the devastation it would cause, even if the shield did manage to deflect some of the blow. He thrashed wildly in Siren's grip.

"Stop it. Don't destroy them," he pleaded.

"They will suffer little," Siren goaded, pretending to sound disappointed.

"No..." he whispered.

Only a few miles before the falling devastation smashed into the shield, a swarm of tiny, bright lights skittered away from the city and zipped towards the meteor. Muffled explosions flashed and the asteroid shattered into thousands of pieces. Many were flung back, far out into the ocean. The remaining shards peppered the city's shield with sparks - bright, but harmless. In a moment, all was quiet again and the city lay humming peacefully upon smooth seas.

"Way to go, Woolsey!" John breathed, shaking with relief.

Relief boiled over into hot anger and he threw off Siren's hold with a surge of blue energy. She fled the atmosphere and retreated into the more comfortable emptiness of space. John chased after, keeping a wary eye on the planet.

She was waiting for him - calmly standing beside the planet. Enraged, John sent his mind after her again, the energy manifesting once more as a blue lightening bolt of fury. Siren raised a hand and deflected the flames. John flared again, and again she simply held the energy away.

Panting, he forced himself to stop. She had played this game the last time, wearing him down with outbursts until he was weak enough to overwhelm.

"Why don't you just leave," he growled finally, frustration and not a little fear growing. She had been playing with him, he realized. She was showing him how powerful she was - how weak he was by comparison.

"I will go...if you leave with me," she said softly.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You cannot defeat me. You cannot kill me. But your desire to protect your home is strong. If you come with me...I will let them live. I will retract my oath."

John's head was spinning with the implications. Siren did nothing without reason - even if much of that 'reason' was driven by desire and passion. He was beginning to realize that her fascination with him was more personal than he'd assumed, and more than revenge for escaping her that first time. He'd thought that sending him back to his body was a final act of cruelty, despite her words about a gift. But perhaps he'd been wrong. Maybe, she...liked him. And oh did that thought make his mind reel.

"I know things have been crazy lately, but I do remember you telling me that even ascendeds can die. You made it a pretty strong point, in fact - in a threatening _me_ sort of way."

"I also told you that you cannot kill that which never lived."

John started to retort, then snapped his mouth shut. Yeah, she had said that too. He wondered if it was true, or merely psychotic arrogance. Siren moved closer, slowly - almost hesitantly. John spread more of himself around the planet, bracing for another attack, but Siren reached for his face, stopping just before she touched him. He forced himself not to flinch.

"Come away with me and you can protect the whole galaxy. The Others will not let you interfere, but at my side, we can build this galaxy into the paradise it should be. The paradise it would have been had the Others not allowed the Wraith to spread."

"The Ancients tried to defeat the Wraith. They failed."

"The mortals, yes. But many ascended. And once they did, they abandoned those whom they left behind. They betrayed the very mortals that they created."

"Not all of them. Chaya stayed."

Siren flared with jealousy for an instant, then resumed her persuasive tone with only a bit of an edge. "The Ancient Athar huddles on her planet, punished. She protects her handful, but she has never even tried to challenge the Wraith. The Others would stop her if she did."

"So, there. Your plan wouldn't work."

"The Others are scattered. I am powerful. Your passion combined with my power would be...unstoppable. Come with me. Come with me now."

Siren glowed more brightly at the thought and John forced down a shudder. He could almost see her vision of them as some kind of galactic Royalty. She touched him briefly and he was flooded with images of a Wraith culling - screaming people, Wraith feeding, incredible pain. He swatted her aside and the images stopped.

"You could stop the suffering. You could end the Wraith, once and for all. You could protect...everyone. And I would keep the Others from stopping you. And...we would be together."

"While that's tempting and everything -." John broke off.

It _was_ tempting, in a strange sort of way. He'd spent the last five years of his life fighting the Wraith. There were days when he felt like nothing he did was worthwhile. His people still died. The people of this galaxy still died. He fought and fought and...it was never enough. And now he had more power than any of his friends had ever imagined.

Once the Wraith were gone, Ronon could be at peace. Teyla would be able to rebuild her people. She would never have to live in fear for her son. McKay could win his Nobel prize. Maybe he could even find a way to send Elizabeth back, make a mortal body for her.

His tumbling thoughts sparked an ache of homesickness. With sudden suspicion he jerked his gaze up to find Siren staring at him, her blue eyes flaming.

"Get out of my head!" he snarled.

Siren's presence faded from his mind and the temptation faded with it, but not completely. She had used his own desires to fuel the illusion. They had been close to real.

"I have only shown you what could be," she said and then drew herself into a flowing, formidable stance. "Come with me and your people will live. You will protect them. Reject me, and they will die."

"I will protect them," he repeated, bracing himself. She went still, feeling his resolve. She seemed almost surprised by his answer. He'd set the board. He knew how it would play out from here. She would pounce, he would defend. He just didn't see the endgame from here.

"I do not wish to destroy you," she said.

"Then don't.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Oh...crap."

Siren pounced and attacked the planet at the same moment. John managed to get himself around the planet. He was learning, slowly, how to think more efficiently in this plane, and he tuned his shield to block Siren completely from manipulating the nature below. She adjusted swiftly and directed her attack at him instead. He was buffeted in the blast, but he hung on, kept himself in place.

She next sent a shower of daggers into his consciousness. He swatted some of them away, and merely gritted his courage against the blades that sank through him. He hadn't known that being ascended meant you could still feel pain. He'd hoped that was a mortal flaw.

Her next attack was spears, the one after - claws of steel. John shuddered from the blows. He couldn't bleed, but he was hemorrhaging strength as fatally as mortal wounds. Again and again she struck. If he struck back, he'd lose the shield, and this time he knew Siren wouldn't miss the city. He curled tighter, fighting down a whimper. He would protect them. He would die protecting them...he already had, once.

"Why do you love them?" Siren screeched at last, pausing in her abuse. John heard jealousy in the words. "Why do you accept the pain on their behalf? Why do you protect them?"

"Because it's my job. Because it's what I do," he whispered back. "Because...they'd do the same for me."

"Then let them."

"Can't...do that."

"Come with me!"

"No!"

Siren shrieked and fell into madness. The frustration and annoyance she must have been holding in check exploded in a nuclear mental event. John was blasted by the fury and poured every last ounce of his strength into shielding the planet. Wave after wave of destruction ripped at him. Had he had a body his skin would have been flayed a layer at a time and then burned into ashes. On this plane, he was being drained of his consciousness in a cruel and agonizingly slow death.

The shield wavered, and he poured more of himself into it, sacrificing the energy of his being to maintain the energy the shield needed. The galaxy around him began to grow dim again. He was no longer quite fully himself. He felt stretched thin again. The shield held firm for a little while more, but it was becoming a hollow shell around a dying soul.

_Hold on, John._

Siren began to weep as she raged. The destruction came in random bursts and she keened a mourning wail. John was shaking with weakness, the shield began to flicker. He was fading, and only Siren's insane inattention kept the surface intact. John stretched himself as thinly as he could to cover as much as he could for as long has he could. He looked down at the city below him. Shame burned through him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I tried."

As was inevitable, John's power finally failed with a small whimper of defeat. His consciousness snapped back around him like a rubber sheet stretched too far and pulled too thin. Siren stopped her attack to pace back and forth before him. She was heaving with exertion; her eyes sparkled with manic triumph. She had defeated him and now she was going to revel in her final blow.

_Delay her. Distract her._

He pushed himself to shaky knees, puzzling over the voice that kept whispering in his head. His consciousness was trembling with weakness, but the longer he kept her attention on him, the longer she was keeping off Atlantis. The voice had that part right.

"Who will you play with when I'm gone?" he growled.

She drew back and struck him. He fell hard against space, well beyond the planet's orbit. She stalked after him, her mind predatory. Apparently, that particular consequence of killing him was a sore spot. Good.

"We've had a lot of fun together. Hate for all that joy and love to end. But, you know what they say: All's well that ends well. You get to kill me then spend the rest of your crappy existence regretting it."

"I hate you," she snarled and struck again. He was far from the planet now. He mustered the last of his energy to sit up.

"I thought you loved me," he taunted, his voice sounding faint. "Don't tell me it's over already."

"You love them. You will never love me."

"You've got that part figured out."

"Then I will not regret your death."

John could tell that she was lying. Siren drew back and he knew that she would not stop herself this time. If there was ever a time for a witty last remark, this was it. John just found himself quietly waiting for the blow. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to fail. He'd always hoped he'd die in a blaze of glory, going out in an act that made a difference.

She struck him, hard, and he reeled. Finally, she pounced and tore deep into his mind. She ripped him open, like a lioness ripping open a gazelle. He choked back a scream, at the very least resolving to die as silent as the dim galaxy around him. He sank into the fabric of space and found his thoughts drifting back to Atlantis, to home. He sent a final thought towards the city, a silly little confession of regret and curled up to wait for the end.

Siren continued to tear at him, shredding his soul into fine ribbons. The attack went on and on and then

... it stopped.


	17. Chapter 17

John was too weak to wonder why Siren had stopped her abuse. He just curled himself around the wounds and closed his eyes. It would start again; he was certain of that at least.

_You've done well, John. We're here now. You're not alone._

He didn't know what that meant either and he just curled tighter. A gentle touch startled him and he shivered, waiting for the pain.

"You're safe, John. The Sevagnet is under our control. We will care for you now."

A surge of warmth skittered over the surface of John's consciousness. The heat soaked deeply into his being and he felt the tears of his soul begin to knit back together. As the heat penetrated deeper and deeper, the pain faded and his strength began to vibrate again. The warming touch retreated with comforting leisure, and he leaned towards it, reluctant to let it go. A faint sound of relief and joy rippled at his side.

He lay for a moment more, not daring to believe how good he felt, and then curiosity overwhelmed him and he struggled to sit up. Another ascended knelt beside him, glowing with its pleasure at his recovery. He tried to identify the being but his mind felt fuzzy, thick. It seemed familiar somehow, but different.

"Surely it has not been that long since we parted?" the being teased.

"Teer!" he exclaimed, joy flooding him along with recognition. The playful vibrancy of her mind, so familiar in such a strange way, laughed at his bemusement.

John looked around, suddenly nervous about Siren's whereabouts. A cluster of beings was gathered nearby and John could just make out Siren weeping in the center of the circle. The dozen or so ascendeds who surrounded her were combining their power into a brilliant glow of control.

"Atlantis?!" he blurted out, unable to see the city from here. He didn't know how long he had been hovering at death's door.

"Safe," Teer assured him and John finally let himself succumb to relief. It was momentarily overwhelming and Teer touched him again when he swooned. She offered him more of her strength until he regained his own.

"I thought Hedda was the one with the golden touch," he said in teasing gratitude once he was able to speak again.

"That was her mortal gift, yes. We have learned much more on this plane."

She tugged on his elbow, encouraging him to stand.

"It's about time you got here," John said with mock disgust to distract her from the awkward lurch it took to rise. He was really only a little bitter, he realized, far too grateful that they'd come at all to grouse over details. Teer, however, flared with annoyance.

"The Ancients in this galaxy are weary of Siren. Athar sounded the alarm before the Sevanget's escape had even been noticed by the Others. They wasted time arguing about how and when to interfere. Those of us who are...younger...set out right away. When you ascended, several of the Others joined us as well, convinced at least to interfere on this plane. Ascended must not fight ascended."

"Tell that to Siren," John breathed, shuddering at the memory of his battle.

"You did well," Teer reassured. "The Ancients prevented us from intervening with the Sevagnet's attack on the city. They claimed that would be interfering with mortal destiny." Her voice took on a tone of disgust. "When she flew into rage, our only hope was to wait for her to expend her power and then overwhelm her at a moment of distraction. You were strong, John. You wore her down and survived."

"For the record, this is one mortal who gives you full permission to interfere in stopping an insane Ori from blowing up my planet, any time."

"You are no longer mortal," Teer said, sounding sober, "You are ascended, John. We who know you - Athar, myself, Hedda, Avrid - we would help, whatever the consequence."

John was surprised at Teer's correction and he realized that he did still think of himself as mortal. He had come only to defend Atlantis against Siren. Even during Siren's temptations, he had never really thought about staying here permanently. Teer was studying him, guessing his thoughts if her sad expression was any indication. She had held hope that he would join them that last time, even until the moment she and her people had left the Ancient shrine.

"Come. They are preparing the Sevagnet's sentence."

Teer floated away to join the circle and John followed, reluctantly. He would really be happy to never see Siren again. He shored up his courage by telling himself it would be nice to see her punished. When he reached the circle, he didn't join, but hovered around the edges, trying not to look into the middle.

A regal looking ascended, rippling with a glowing train of age was standing over the bowed prisoner. John didn't recognize the being, although he spotted several from Teer's people scattered through the circle. Avrid flashed him a small nod of greeting and then turned to the Ancient who began speaking in a deep, dusty-sounding voice.

"Ori Sevagnet, you are convicted again of interfering with the mortal plane..."

"She did a damn bit more than _interfere_," John muttered over Teer's shoulder.

"You will be banished again, and returned your world under constant vigilance."

Banished? John felt a flush of anger. That hadn't worked so well the last time, had it?

"You will be denied all contact with the mortal plane. No worshippers may join you and you will not be permitted access to a portal."

"No! I repent. I was overcome by my ages in captivity. I will accept your banishment, but leave me a portal so that, in time, mortals may come to me. So that, in time, I may prove my trustworthiness."

"Is she kidding? Does she think we're going to buy that line of crap?" John whispered harshly to Teer. Teer just tilted her head and continued to listen.

"You will not be permitted access to a portal," the Ancient repeated and John felt a tickle of relief. He, too, was weary. In his opinion, banishment was a slap on the wrist. But she wouldn't bother him again. Nor, likely, bother any humans for thousands of years.

"We will keep watch over her," Teer promised. "You and I and Athar and Avrid will make sure she never torments again."

That niggling feeling of guilt floated to the surface. He looked at Teer and realized that she had spoken out of hope, not certainty. She knew he planned to return to the mortals. Before he could form a reply, Siren began wailing and crying.

"You are too cruel. I repent. Spare me the loneliness. Give me some hope for the future. Provide me with some incentive to change."

"She's up to something," John growled, unconvinced by the act.

"Perhaps she is just distraught by the punishment." Teer didn't sound as if she believed the words, but she also didn't know Siren like John did.

"No. She's up to something. Teer, tell your people to watch her. Don't let her -."

But his warning was too late. In that instant of sympathy, the circle of restraint wavered just slightly. Siren disappeared within a violently bright flash that expanded into a ball of energy. The sphere broke the circle and Teer's friends and the other Ancients were sent flying, scattered across the solar system.

John threw up his hands and forced himself to keep his eyes on Siren when the blast shoved him down, too, but only a little distance from where he'd started. He was the only one who saw her turn into a blur of light and streak past with the speed and power of a light-speed locomotive. John turned to track her course. She was heading towards the planet, towards Atlantis. And John knew, with a sudden, utter certainty that she intended to fulfill her promise and destroy it - probably the entire planet along with it, if her speed was any indication.

"Stop her!" he yelled, flinging himself after even as he spoke. "She's going for Atlantis."

He made it a few lengths of space when he was yanked back. Shocked he turned to see the Old Ancient, the one who had been delivering the sentence, restraining him with a long tendril of power.

"And when she destroys it, she will have expended the last of her ire. We will have no trouble restraining her further; she will be weakened for generations of mortal time."

John couldn't quite believe he was hearing this. "We have to stop her _before_ she destroys it," he snarled, struggling against the hold. "She'll kill everyone there."

"The lives of those few are of little sacrifice. They will serve their purpose."

"Like hell they will!" John spat and yanked free of the Ancient's grasp. He was no better than Siren! How could those so supposedly old and wise be such...assholes!

He streaked after Siren, cursing the delay and felt a presence pacing him at his side.

"Get away! I'm going to stop her, whatever you say," he yelled.

"I am with you, John," Teer's soft voice replied and he was flooded with gratitude. Teer pulled slightly ahead, "Let me show you speed," she added and her presence rippled with grim amusement.

John watched closely as Teer formed herself into another blur of motion. She become both more streamlined and somehow more like light itself. John imitated her to the best of his ability and they passed through the relatively short distance in a blaze of speed. In what seemed like only seconds, John could see the blur of Siren ahead of them, still away from the planet, and they were gaining.

Teer accelerated with one last burst of incredible speed and John found himself with only a few seconds to consider what he was going to do when they caught up. Siren had aimed herself at the center of the planet's mass and seemed to be planning to ram it - its complete destruction certain to tear apart the tiny city floating upon its surface. John pulled ahead of Teer, feeling her uncertainty, and knew that the job was his to finish. He had to finish Siren for good, or she'd never leave him or Atlantis alone.

The planet was looming large in his view when he pushed himself to Siren's heels. They were passing the moons' orbits when he threw everything he had into his velocity and came level.

"Hello, Siren. Time to die," he growled - and threw himself into her path.

The collision was a spectacular release of energy. Siren screeched in surprise and pulsed with fury. Blue sparks flared in random, hot bolts. They tumbled for a wild, uncontrolled moment and then skidded over the surface of the outer atmosphere. Their energies bounced off the abrasive air to be flung into a low, swift orbit. John grabbed for her and held on. He wrapped his consciousness around her, holding her with his whole being.

She scraped at him and he just held on, wrapping himself more tightly. She was still stronger and more experienced than him, but she was weaker than she had been. She had spent much of her energy fighting him and breaking out of the circle. And John's simple tactic, to hold on whatever happened, was difficult to counter.

"I cannot die, and your pitiful friends cannot hold me."

She was seething with frustration and clawed at him again to escape. He entwined himself around her, pressing closer and closer, almost merging his being with hers. Her ages of malice and evil play began to seep together with his own hatred of her, his own desire to kill. Siren began to struggle even harder, her confusion at his closeness fueling her aggravation.

"Stop," she said, finally and he felt her distaste at his invasion.

"No," he hissed. "I'm going to kill you."

"I cannot die."

John spread more of himself around her, binding her with threads that became more like life-threads the tighter he wove them together. He felt his consciousness sliding into hers and he struggled to keep _himself_ separate. He was blasted by visions of her past, the suffering she had inflicted in her quest for more feeling and more human sensation. The images made him sick with disgust, but he held on and wove the threads tighter.

She had been born ascended, the child of an act of defiance to equally cruel Ori parents. But for Siren, who had never been mortal, he felt her longing for emotion as a kind of intoxication. Or, compensation perhaps. The intimate knowledge only strengthened his resolve. She would not change. She _could_ not change. She was Sevagnet - bastard ascended.

"What are you doing?" Siren wailed.

_John, you are blending yourself too closely. Pull away and wait for the Others._

Teer's soft panic whispered in his mind and he spared a small thread of regret for her. Their time was - again - only too short. But he knew what he had to do. He'd caught an inkling of it as he collided with Siren above the planet. She was right, she couldn't die - as an ascended.

"What are you doing?!" Siren screamed when John began to weave threads around himself and bind them together. They were whirling around the planet as he worked. Every few circuits, they would skim the atmosphere again and John's consciousness would heat with warmth from the contact.

"You said you wanted to be together," he mocked, putting the final touches on his threads. "I'm just giving you what you want. We can die together."

"I cannot -."

"You said that which has never lived cannot die. I get that. I'm going to give you a chance to live."

John felt a grim satisfaction as Siren finally understood. He laughed at her deep shudder of fear and held on tightly as she began to thrash wildly against his threads. A few snapped and unraveled, but he had bound them too tightly for it to matter. She shifted her attention and dove into his mind instead, the barriers of their consciousness only separated by a thin membrane of sanity. Well, sanity in John's case. He was nearly overwhelmed by Siren's insanity as she clawed her way inside of him.

_You will release me and I will destroy this planet because I wish it. _

_No. _John fought for a small corner of private space in his own head and let himself begin to sink as he began the final step. The threads began to thicken and dig deeper into their consciousness.

_I am Siren! I am the name you gave me. I am the story I plucked from your mind. I am the beautiful luress of men. I cannot be destroyed._

_You missed part of the story, Siren. When Odysseus escaped, the Sirens flung themselves into the water and drowned. They died. You let me get away, Siren. _

The threads were becoming painful as they tightened and thickened and began bite with sharp stings. Siren writhed more viciously, and cursed and wailed within John's mind like a trapped serpent. Maybe this is what being host to a goa'uld felt like, John thought desperately, trying to distract himself from the pain of the transformation he was attempting. And from the fear of what would happen when he did.

_ You will release me! I will leave. I will spare you and your city. Do not make me mortal!_

John had no energy to reply. His entire consciousness was focused on one thing - returning to a mortal state. His shoulder warmed as they collided with the outer atmosphere yet again, and then remained warm with a calming heat; they were falling deeper into the atmosphere. The threads pierced deeply and thickened to ropes. The weight of them pulled him further into the abyss. Siren shrieked, her mind terrified, her consciousness flailing at him to stop. But he held her, kept her bound to him and inexorably they fell together - into cold and heat and darkness and emptiness.

_What are you doing, John?! Please stop. You'll die, too._

_Goodbye, Teer. Tell..the..others..._

The bottom dropped and he felt a sensation of freefall, if free falling was like being dragged through a pit of broken glass or a raging storm of blasting sand. Siren's scream echoed behind him as she was pulled relentlessly by the threads he'd tied together. His own cry of pain joined her wail. They were smashed against a tiny opening in the fabric of space, crushed by the narrow path into thin strands of being and then pulled through like yarn from a skein.

_Please..._ Siren whimpered. John could sense her terror and felt a single moment of sympathy. She was a horrid, evil creature...but she was to be pitied.

_Goodbye, Siren,_ he said just before their minds were ripped apart to congeal into mortal isolation, _and good riddance._

John felt a moment of white-hot heat, and then he was - himself. His mind snapped into the mortal body that appeared in low orbit above the planet and then promptly panicked. There was no air. He had no breath to hold, and no force of will could pull air out of the nothingness of the vacuum around him. He flailed for a moment, suffocating, freezing, then was smothered by an overwhelming calm.

He'd known this would be the consequence. Needing only to see that he'd succeeded, that his sacrifice had made a difference, he waved his arms and spun until he saw what he needed to see.

Siren floated a few meters away from him. She had become a lovely woman with long black hair that spread out in rippling waves around her. For an instant, she resembled the mermaid Sirens she had taken for her name - beautiful, deadly. Her eyes widened with wonder at the sensation of being mortal then she, too, panicked. She twisted and flailed. Her mouth worked in a scream that had no air to sound.

John began to shudder with the ravages of vacuum upon his naked, mortal body. He'd spent time in zero-vac before, usually only for a mere minute or two, usually with someone on the inside watching his back, but there was no end game to this play. It was checkmate and pack up the board.

Siren continued to thrash. He kept his pounding eyes locked on her and a strange glow seemed to surround her. She opened her mouth in a final scream, and reached for John. There was a flash, then a streak of light that painted a short line in the sky and then she was...gone. For a moment he was confused. Had she escaped after all? He began to feel the slight heat of re-entry as gravity caught hold of him and he shuddered with understanding. She had been lower in orbit.

He curled up and writhed as his body self-destructed, spots danced before his eyes from oxygen deprivation. His mortal consciousness was fading from him and he knew that this time, there would be no galaxy of light waiting. He would finally discover what lay on the other side of the emptiness. But at least Atlantis was safe. His friends were safe. His sacrifice had been worth it.

John closed his eyes. Siren was gone. Dead. Unascended and burned to a crisp in the atmosphere.

He'd...won?

Convulsions took him and he gladly gave up his awareness to leave his own death unwitnessed. The last thing he felt was a warm glow and a bright light that surrounded him with heat and life and love.

"Teer..." he breathed.

And then he saw nothing but black.


	18. Chapter 18

_You have crossed the line, Teer. He is mortal. His existence is no longer our concern._

_His "existence" just saved the life of his entire planet. AND rid you of the burden of the Sevagnet forever. We owe him. He chose mortality as the only path to save his people. He was one of us. He IS one of us. _

_Teer's right. The punishment for willful interference is banishment or mortality. We would do no less for an offender of the law, so how can we refuse him his mortality, willingly chosen._

John drifted slowly into semi- consciousness. He could hear the voices, muffled and faint, coming from inside of him somehow. A sudden memory brought the panic back and he gulped as if suffocating. Instead of harsh vacuum he felt sweet air pass into his lungs.

_I will accept the consequence if you pursue the matter, but I will not abandon him. Do as you will to me, but I choose to save him._

John felt the tension of the mysterious conversation as individual minds fell into brooding introspection. During the silence, he stretched briefly, testing out his physical situation before he committed to opening his eyes. His whole body ached in consequence and he curled up tighter, deciding that waking up fully wasn't going to work out after all. He was warm and comfortable, if a bit confined, in whatever soft bubble of a bed this actually was.

_I suppose there is no harm in returning him to the mortals he fell to save, _the old, dusty sounding voice said at last. _As you say, he has chosen his punishment. We will simply complete the sentence he himself began._

John began to drift away again as the voices in his mind radiated happiness and satisfaction. It was a soothing pleasure and he felt safe and cared for within its embrace. Some of the voices left, others drew closer. A tiny spark of curiosity held him awake for just a moment longer as he listened in.

_Well done, Teer. I thought they were going to banish you, too._

_The Old ones speak harshly, Avrid, but I believe they were truly quite pleased. John may have broken the rules, but he did save all of us a lot of trouble. The Sevagnet would never have given up her horrid ways against mortals. John understood better than the rest of us that, in the end, a mortal would be the one to defeat her._

_Is he OK, Teer?_ John didn't recognize this new voice, yet. It hadn't spoken during the conversation with the Old ones, or been present in the circle against Siren.

_He will be. He was damaged by the vacuum of space, but he will heal. We should let him heal in his home. He fought so hard to get back there..._

Teer's voice trailed off, slow and sad. John shivered a little with sorrow. He wished he could somehow repay her for her bravery and for rescuing him. But he knew that her true wish he could not fulfill. He couldn't stay with her. He wanted to go home, to Atlantis. Sleep tugged harder and he nestled into its embrace.

_Let me go with you when you take him back, _the mystery voice said eagerly, _I know just where you should take him..._

John didn't care where he landed, as long as it was somewhere on Atlantis and not the West Pier shooting range. Sleep claimed him at last, but it was the deep, restful sleep of the completely content.

* * *

Ronon wandered the halls of Atlantis and found that he had to fight his feet from following their accustomed path to Sheppard's room. Sheppard wasn't there. The frustrating cycle of grief, then justified denial, then doubt, then anxious hope flared into a wheel of confusion and he sped down the corridor as if to run from his very thoughts. A sudden notion turned him into the nearest transporter and he was outside of Teyla's door with little memory of getting the rest of the way there.

Kanaan and Torren had left that afternoon for a long-planned visit to the Athosians, but Teyla had changed her mind and sent them on without her. Ronon suspected that she did not wish to leave Atlantis while John was still missing. She had given some other excuse, but he knew. He also felt the heavy anxiety of waiting hanging over every hour of his days.

"It's been three weeks, Sheppard. Get your ass back home," he muttered to himself as he worked up the courage to ring the chime. Teyla answered quickly after he'd done so and she looked grateful for his presence. She welcomed him in and they were soon sitting on the balcony of her apartment, sipping Athosian tea and looking at the sparkles of the planet's largest moon reflecting upon the water.

"Ronon," she said after long comfortable minutes of silence had disappeared. Time with Teyla usually passed in quiet conversation. Ronon missed his evenings of sparring and running with Sheppard where no words at all were required, but Teyla's presence was satisfying, if more work.

"Ronon, when John was...dying and trying to ascend, you said that he wouldn't do it to save himself. Do you believe he...seeks death?"

For once, he was shocked by her question and he shifted in his seat, leaning forward with his urgency.

"No! Sheppard's the most stubborn, most tenacious, most damn _alive_ person I've ever met. Even if he is a lazy bastard."

"Good. I did not believe that as well and wanted to be certain you did not. I see in him a man who values life highly."

"Exactly. That's why he fights so damn hard to save lives. He doesn't seek death, but he's not afraid of it, either."

"Yes. That sometimes worries me. A little fear is a good thing."

Ronon chortled, understanding her protectiveness, but not sharing in her concern. Teyla rolled her eyes, but also laughed softly, understanding him in return. More quiet companionship passed by.

"I put in a request to visit Chaya, again," Ronon said and it was Teyla's turn to look at him sharply. Ronon just shrugged. "Once McKay and Keller get back in a couple of days. We need to find out what's going on. Woolsey turned off the Ori shield a week ago. There's been no unusual events in the immediate area for weeks."

"Not since the asteroids attacked the planet," Teyla agreed.

"John should be able to return if he...when he..." he stumbled over his words, not wanting to admit to the doubts that floated through his mind. "Have you felt anything, lately, Teyla?" he asked at last.

Teyla didn't answer for so long that he bent closer to see her face in the dim moonlight. "Teyla?"

"About ten days ago," she began very softly, "I felt Siren release a wave of hatred unlike any we'd experienced before. Shortly after that there was...something else."

"What?" Ronon's voice was low and soft. Something about her manner was raising the hair on his neck.

"It was just an impression, almost like an afterthought. I was sitting here on the deck, rocking Torren to sleep when I could have sworn that I heard...John."

"He was here?! He talked to you?"

"No. The voice, for lack of a better word, felt far away."

"What did he say?"

Teyla was silent for another long time.

"He said he was...sorry."

"Sorry? For what? Why would he say that?" Ronon was completely confused.

"I don't know," she said and he got the impression that she wasn't telling the entire truth, but he did find out more about what was on her mind when she reached for his hand and grabbed it tightly. Unshed tears glittered in her eyes. "Ronon, he sounded lost, defeated. What if...Siren destroyed him and just moved on. What if he hasn't returned because he's gone for good."

"I can't believe that. I won't. Not until I see it or hear it with my own ears. That's why we need to go ask Chaya."

Teyla just nodded mutely. He touched her cheek with a friendly, gentle slap.

"Hey, this is Sheppard, remember? We just decided that he's a stubborn son-a-bitch, to use his world's phrase. Woolsey talked to the Daedalus today. They'll be here soon. We'll go then."

They sat together until the large moon had set below the rippling waves and the small moon was rising behind them. Ronon yawned and slapped his legs, signaling his intention to leave. He was worried about Teyla's melancholy, but had decided as they sat that he would refuse to speculate, about anything, until they talked to Chaya. Woolsey would give them permission to go, he was sure of it.

"You OK?" he asked as they walked to the apartment entrance.

"I will be fine. Thank you for your company, Ronon."

"Yeah. Anytime."

He bent to give her a swift hug goodbye when a flash of light outside the balcony doors caught his attention. He stiffened, then drew his weapon.

"What? What's wrong?" Teyla immediately moved to his side in a defensive stance and was looking around for the source of his alarm.

"I saw something. Back out on the balcony. Movement out there."

"Siren?"

"How the hell should I know? I'll check it out."

"We should call security."

"Do you have a weapon?"

"No. The baby. I leave them checked into the armory..."

"Then you call."

Ronon stalked towards the door of the balcony, his weapon raised, his senses tuned to respond to any alert. He heard Teyla scramble around the room and then speak urgently into her headset. Ronon put his shoulder against the doorframe and listened. There was no noise. The light had faded as quickly as it had come. His weapon sagged lower and he was beginning to feel a little foolish. Perhaps he'd only caught the reflection of the new moon. Or maybe a late jumper had flown by.

A low moan brought his weapon back to shoulder height and he spun around the frame. He took a single step onto the balcony and then froze.

"Son of a... Teyla!"

Ronon jammed his gun into his holster and dropped to one knee beside the prone figure that had appeared out of nowhere onto the decking of the balcony.

"Teyla. Get the hell out here! It's John! Sheppard's back!"

Joy flooded his chest and he laughed out loud with relief at the feeling of Sheppard's slow, steady pulse under his probing fingertips. He slapped Sheppard's bare shoulder with unrestrained affection. Sheppard groaned again, frowned in his sleep, but remained stubbornly unconscious. He looked a little banged up, but he was warm and breathing and much healthier than the ravaged shell he had been when he left.

"Lazy bastard," Ronon rumbled fondly.

"John!" Teyla exclaimed appearing in the door and then, "Oh my!"

She disappeared again as quickly as she'd come, only to return a few seconds later with a soft, woolen blanket that she threw over John's shoulders. She knelt beside Ronon and together they tucked the loose ends around his naked form.

Ronon watched as she spent a little time trying to bring him around with soft pats against his cheek and murmured words of encouragement.

"Let him sleep," Ronon advised, unable to keep the grin off his face. "He's had a busy month."

"You're right of course. I just really want to know what happened!" Teyla chuckled. The feeling of contentment in the air was thick, like a head full of good ale.

A loud clatter of many feet in the apartment behind them pulled their attention from John and Teyla waved her arms, happily flustered.

"I forgot about the security detail!"

Ronon stayed on the balcony while Teyla apprised the men who had been summoned to her alert. They relaxed immediately, and each one of them found a way to peek through the door for a glimpse of their C/O. Lorne was a good commander, but Sheppard's men had a lot of respect for him. He had been missed.

Sheppard mumbled a little as Ronon watched over him and it seemed all too soon that Marie and a medical crew had arrived. The medics performed their survey and Ronon was unsurprised at the lack of urgency their probing generated. Sheppard was fine. He knew it. Aside from strange bruising around his eyes and slightly roughened skin, Sheppard was perfect.

John was gently lifted to the gurney and the security detail excused themselves. They looked like men who were eager to share their good news and brag a little about being the ones to do so. Once the medics had also cleared the room and Sheppard was clattering his way back to the infirmary, Ronon found himself in the doorway waiting for Teyla. She took another moment to close the balcony doors and fuss with settling her room before she joined him. He watched her closely as they turned into the halls after Sheppard. She caught him looking and shot him a puzzled look.

"You, ah, don't feel anything...uh, anyone around anymore, do you?"

Teyla grinned a wide happy smile. "No. Siren is gone. I'm sure of it. And it only makes me want to know how John accomplished it all the more."

"Let's go find out," he said and snatched for her hand to pull her into a jog along the corridors.

Although they were only a few minutes behind the medics, there was already something of a commotion in the infirmary when they arrived. Lorne and Woolsey had beaten them, having headed directly there after being awakened by Teyla's summons. Lorne was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and looked completely happy in a very rumpled sort of way. Woolsey looked impeccable as always, but he was wearing his silky jogging suit. Ronon suddenly smiled to himself at the realization that the man must have started laying the suit out at night to be ready for quick changes. He was fitting right in to Alantis.

Teyla and Ronon joined them around a bed in the main part of the infirmary where a sleepy looking but definitely awake John Sheppard was arguing with Marie.

"Come on, doc. Do I have to have that damn needle in my arm? Run a scan and let me just lie here and sleep for a week without the needles."

Marie just continued to prepare the IV and didn't bother to answer. John chuffed in exasperation and Ronon noticed that despite the act, his friend lay heavily on the pillows and his movements were slow. John rolled his head and finally looked at the gathering around him. He tugged his sheets higher up his chest with a faint blush of modesty and his face split into a wide grin.

"Hi!" he said.

Teyla pushed closer to one side and grabbed for John's hand to give it a hard squeeze. Ronon saw him squeeze back, but the gesture was weak and his fingers trembled with the effort. John would have some resting up to do, Ronon realized, the thought reminding him that he had no idea what John had been through. It was sobering, and he slapped John on the shoulder again, this time in gentle sympathy.

"Colonel, we are quite pleased to have you back!" Woolsey stepped forward, his face echoing the pleasure of all of them. "I apologize for seeming hasty, but...can you tell us if we are still in danger from the Ori?"

John reacted to the question with a deep frown and a catch in his breath. Ronon pressed his hand more firmly into John's shoulder.

"Siren is dead," he rasped out finally. He opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it with a frustrated shrug.

"What happened?" Teyla asked softly.

John closed his eyes. "I don't remember," he snapped.

"Then are you certain -." Woolsey began.

"I'm sure. She's dead. I remember that."

He kept his eyes closed, and Ronon exchanged a concerned look with Teyla. They both turned to Woolsey, Ronon warning him not to press. John would remember later, or he wouldn't. All that mattered was that Siren was dead. Woolsey just smiled, satisfied.

"Then we owe you a debt of gratitude, Colonel. Rest as long as you need. We're... I'm glad you're back." He spoke the last with quiet familiarity and left with a happy bounce in his step.

"Glad you're back, sir," Lorne muttered looking like a man who had just been rescued from prison. John nodded mutely and Lorne also wandered out.

"Where's Dr. Zimmer?" Teyla asked suddenly and Ronon looked around. The man had been here a lot during John's illness. He had helped during that difficult time, with a helpful word and a nudge of encouragement when it was needed. Now that he thought about it, it did seem odd for him not to be here now. He just shrugged and Teyla turned to Marie.

"Dr. Zimmer is not on duty at this hour," the doctor just said.

"Will you be sure to let him know of John's happy return?" Teyla pressed.

"The Colonel is suffering from dehydration and exhaustion. He'll be here for a couple of days. I'll be sure to make sure Dr. Zimmer comes by."

Marie seemed sincere so Ronon returned his attention to John who seemed close to sleep again.

"You OK, Sheppard?"

"Peachy."

"Do you need anything, John?" Teyla added.

"Food."

"I'm certain Marie will take care of all your needs. Would you like to rest now?"

John hesitated, then said very softly, "Yes."

Ronon smiled at the hesitation, thumped his friend again and then bent to pull a chair close by, making a loud squeal as he did so that John would hear.

"You go ahead and sleep, Sheppard. I'll watch your back."

He was pleased with the way his declaration seemed to relax John completely and he blushed at Teyla's look of admiration. "You go get some sleep too, Teyla."

"I will try," she said. "But I'm feeling very...wound up!"

"You'll sleep. I'm betting you haven't been sleeping well, lately."

"You would win the bet. I will return in the morning to relieve you."

"S'okay," Ronon replied, flopping into the chair and jamming his chin into his hand. "I'll nap here. Sheppard's out. I'll just make sure he's not alone when he wakes up again."

"You are a good friend," she said softly.

"So are you," he replied, and he smiled as she picked up his double meaning. He and Teyla were a good team. She gave John one last squeeze, touched his forehead briefly and then walked towards the door.

"Teyla?" Ronon called, just before she left. She turned back with a puzzled smile.

"Told you he'd come back."


	19. Chapter 19

John woke up in the by-now familiar warmth of the infirmary and squirmed a little with annoyance. Sleeping here was like sleeping in a fish bowl. He could tell someone was watching him. For a while, he'd appreciated the fact that friends were nearby, usually Teyla or Ronon. But as one day had slid into two and he began to feel almost like himself, the constant attention was getting...old.

He briefly considered just pretending he was still asleep until whoever it was went away. The intruder was tapping loudly on a computer, most likely making the noise that had woken him up. He rustled again, the tapping continued and at last he shoved himself upright with a glare.

"Hey, injured man trying to sleep here!" he snapped before he got a look at who was there. The man sitting beside his bed jerked his head up in surprise and John found all of his frustration melting away with pleasure.

"Hi Rodney!" he said.

"Hi yourself, sleeping beauty," Rodney retorted. They just looked at each other for a long moment.

"You're back!" they both said at exactly the same moment and Rodney finally cracked. With a wide smile, he stood up and took John's hand for a firm shake.

"You first." John waved a little 'get on with it' hand sign, eager to get Rodney talking on the hope he'd forget to ask John about his own five weeks off duty.

Rodney complied in happy distraction for quite some time. By the end of the monologue, John was sagging into his pillows, simply grinning and nodding now and then while Rodney found the energy to cover nearly every minute of his time on Earth and the trip back to Atlantis.

He particularly made a point of expanding in detail his brilliant efforts in preparing the calculations for the Ori repellant shield. John groveled with appropriate gratitude, allowing only the smallest smirk to escape as he coddled his friend's ego. The shield had helped a little. But it had not been even close to enough. Luckily, Rodney missed the pained shudder that ran through him as he brushed against the memories of his time as an ascended.

At long last, Rodney seemed to run out of things about himself to discuss and he leaned back in his chair.

"So what happened to you? We had just left Earth when we got the word that you'd managed to ascend fully. No one had heard from you since. Teyla said you just got back two days ago?"

John fidgeted. "Time is different there. It didn't feel that long to me." He shuddered again and chuffed, annoyed at himself. "It was long enough, believe me."

"So you still don't remember anything?"

"I remember it was unpleasant. I remember watching Siren die. That's about it."

"You were able to overpower her once you ascended?"

"No. Not really. I...pulled her back here. I chose to become mortal again and dragged her along with me. It was the only way she could die. We appeared together in high orbit. She burned up in the atmosphere."

"Holy cow."

"No kidding."

"How did you manage to avoid burning up in re-entry if you were mortal too?"

"I had help," he said mysteriously and Rodney just rolled his eyes.

They were distracted by the appearance of Jennifer Keller who gave John a big hug, to his immense embarrassment.

"So has Rodney bored you long enough?"

"It was actually quite entertaining. You had almost as much excitement as I did," he teased, referring to her adventures at Rodney's colleague's botched demonstration on Earth. An odd look passed between Rodney and Keller and John cocked his head, catching the moment.

"Exciting is one word. Terrifying is the one I'd use," Keller clarified. "Marie ran me through your charts, John. You've been on a hell of a ride. How do you feel now?"

"Like I need another vacation. But basically fine. I'm just still tired."

"I read all the medical data collected when Dr. Jackson returned from ascension and as far as I can tell, you've done it properly. Marie and I want to keep you here for another night to make sure that pesky dehydration is taken care of."

"I'd sleep better at my place," he offered hopefully. "I'll drink lots of water."

"I'll take that into consideration," she said with a smile and John couldn't help but smile in return at the thought of a decent night's sleep, without the fishbowl.

She left with another suspicious look at Rodney who was grinning like a schoolboy. Rodney recovered first and John found himself caught in his intense scrutiny.

"So about this mysterious help...you're not telling me everything."

"Neither are you," John retorted with a meaningful look at Keller's retreating back. "Nothing very mysterious at all. The other ascendeds showed up in time. Some of them helped me out."

For some reason he was reluctant to mention Teer and Avrid and the others by name. He felt really tired all of a sudden and he sank further into his pillows.

"Some of them?"

"Some of them," he confirmed unhelpfully.

"Do you remember anything about when you were half-ascended? Why you kept manifesting injuries down here?"

John looked away.

"No. Not really. It was bad. That's all I remember. That's all I want to remember."

"Fair enough," Rodney said at last and John was grateful that the man decided not to press. The memories of his final defeat of Siren had only come to him slowly over the last couple of days and he was really hoping the rest would stay in the void. Rodney stood up and flipped his laptop under his arm and shook John's hand again.

"Welcome back," he said and John chuckled.

"You, too."

John drowsed for a while after Rodney left, but found himself unable to fall completely asleep. Every time he was forced to think about the time he'd been under Siren's control he was left with a deeply uncomfortable ache. As if there was a psychotic episode just waiting to happen once he remembered what he'd been through. He really, really, didn't want to remember. He hadn't been spoofing Rodney on that part.

He squirmed restlessly in the bed for a long time and was just considering asking Keller if they'd let him go shower and get ready to go home. He'd feel better if he could squirm in his own bed. Before he could get up to find someone to ask, a tall, slim black doctor with a uniform patch boasting the flag of South Africa walked up to his bed and stood smiling at him with broad familiarity.

"Hi, doc," John said, wondering if he should know this guy's name.

"Hello, Colonel Sheppard. I am Doctor Zimmer. Forgive me for intruding upon your rest, but I have been involved in your case since you fell ill, and I simply wanted to check in, to see how you were doing." The man had a mischievous smile that didn't quite jibe with his formal manner.

"Uh, Zimmer. Right. Ronon said something about a Zimmer helping him and Teyla figure things out. Thanks for that, doc."

"It was merely my duty," he said, still smirking.

"Well, Ronon likes you. That tells me a lot."

"You have good friends."

"That I do."

"Here _and_ on the next plane...John."

"Excuse me?"

Something was very odd about this Zimmer guy, and John looked around nervously, hoping for a glimpse of Keller or maybe even Ronon. The entire infirmary was strangely empty. Not a doctor, or nurse, or technician was in sight. It was getting kind of weird.

"I've been with you from the beginning. By coincidence, sadly, but once the Sevagnet tore you half-way into our plane I stayed to help as much as I could. As much as I was allowed."

"I'm really not following you, doc."

By way of answer, Doctor Zimmer began to glow and then disappeared into a bright flash of light. John blinked at the glare, and when he opened them again, a wispy ascended being was floating beside him, tendrils of light trailing around it as if they were fluttering in a breeze. John shoved himself away from the thing in fear, remembering Siren even though he kept telling himself she was dead.

"It's me!" the being shouted happily and a small, human face appeared against the glowing shape.

John remained frozen for another instant longer and then he chuckled. The chuckle grew into a deep belly laugh of pleasure.

"Hello, Hedda," he said fondly, once he'd gotten his laughter under control.

Hedda had been a child when she ascended with her sister and brother from the Ancient shrine and had been one of the few of those people he'd felt close to during his time there. Apparently, ascension hadn't grown her up much, and she hopped onto the bed beside him to swing her tendrils like a child swinging its legs.

"So you've been spying on us," he teased, more pleased by her visit than he could have expected. There was a small part of him that missed his friends on the ascended plane. He would make it a point to go visit Chaya, too, he decided. Thank her for sounding the alarm. Teyla had told him she had given them the answer despite their unwillingness to accept it.

"I was not spying! I was undercover. If that nasty old Siren had known I was here, she would have kicked me out quick. I played mortal for days and days. I had to change Marie's memory so they would think I was a doctor and would let me near you. I tried to heal you. I really did."

Her face grew so glum at her failure that John reached impulsively to touch her in reassurance. His hand passed through her with a warm tingle.

"I'm sure you did. You were here the whole time?"

"I came to say hi. It gets boring sometimes and you always played with me at the shrine. I saw you surfing. You're very good!"

"Really?! Where were you?"

"I was the dolphin, remember? The one who played in the waves with you?"

"No kidding. I thought it was weird this planet had creatures just like the ones back on Earth. But I didn't think too much of it. The last planet had whales... Why didn't you say something?"

Hedda squirmed, pulling off unrepentant guilt like only a child can.

"Ok, so I was spying on you a little. I was going to surprise you when you got back to Atlantis, but then SHE came. I got scared and hid among the mortals."

"You did the right thing," he said firmly.

"Teer told everyone what you did. You were very brave. She said even the Old ones were impressed, even though they're too stuffy to admit it."

For some reason, the child's praise didn't embarrass John at all and he just laughed.

"Teer was very brave too. I would have died a couple different ways without her help."

"She has a crush on you," Hedda announced like she was revealing a secret. John didn't know what to say but Hedda's short attention span spared him from the need to come up with something.

"I have to go, John. I've stayed longer than I was supposed to as it is. The Old ones get testy if we spend too much time with mortals. I got away with it for a long time because everyone was so distracted." She seemed very pleased by her caper.

"Tell Teer and the others hello for me. And... you can come visit whenever you like. Without the spying," he added with mock sternness.

She floated away from the bed to hover near his shoulder. Her expression had gone serious again and John cocked his head.

"What's the matter, Hedda?"

"You're sad, John," she said as if she had read the diagnosis off his medical chart.

"I suppose I am. I enjoyed our chat. I'm sad you're leaving."

"No. You're sad because that nasty old Siren hurt you. She made you sad."

"I...don't think..." John felt the ache of that missing time swell and he fought back a sting in his eyes. "I don't remember. And I don't want to talk about it, Hedda," he rasped out.

"You remember only the pain but that's not what you should remember. She hurt you by making you protect other people, John. She punished you by making you feel kind and noble things. You should remember that you were brave."

"It's not that simple," he whispered, even though her words helped a little. He hadn't thought about it that way.

"It is for me," Hedda said and she reached out to touch his forehead with a glowing tendril. He felt a soothing warmth that massaged away the ache and the pain and the fear. He would never remember exactly what illusions Siren had put him through, but he finally felt like, just maybe, the imprint of their horror wouldn't overwhelm him now.

Hedda withdrew as gently as she'd entered. John felt very tired and sagged into his bed, emotionally sapped.

"Thank you."

"Good bye, John," Hedda said with a final caress of warmth against his face.

He watched as she zipped three times around his bed in playful farewell and then disappeared through the ceiling.

"Good bye," he whispered after her, this time feeling tears of parting that he forced back with manly resolve. A sudden thought brought a low chuckle.

"How the hell am I going to explain to Marie that Dr. Zimmer doesn't actually exist," he wondered out loud.

He was still laughing when Teyla and Ronon appeared an hour later to join him for dinner. They in turn were still laughing when Rodney and Keller brought cookies and bottles of beer for a very inappropriate impromptu welcome home party. John got water.

"You should have just taken the five weeks off on Earth, Sheppard," Ronon chided him, late into the evening once they had settled into comfortable conversation. Woolsey and Lorne had wandered in after ending their shifts and sat with them, part of a large circle of friendship.

John was about to fall asleep and kept nodding against his pillows and he suddenly suspected that the whole thing had been arranged by Keller to keep him in the infirmary like she'd wanted all along. He was almost too sleepy to care. Thanks to Hedda, he felt certain he'd sleep well wherever he happened to be.

"I'm definitely taking leave the next time there's a mad Ori on the loose," he agreed.

"We're all taking leave the next time there's a mad Ori on the loose," Lorne added fervently with a lift of his bottle in salute. "Speaking of leave, I hear some of the guys are talking about Heli-skiing on the mainland when the southern hemisphere is in the winter season. There's a perfect range."

"Heli-skiing?" Teyla asked curiously.

"You get a helicopter to fly you up to the top of a mountain and then you ski down," Lorne answered, warming to his topic. "Except we'd use jumpers which are even better. You can slide right out the ramp. Do you ski, sir?"

John jerked a little, startling from almost-sleep, "Um. Yes. I ski. I'm a good skier," he mumbled at first and then he was blindsided by a panic attack that sucked all the air out of his lungs and twisted him into a statue of tension on his pillows. He clenched his hands and screwed his eyes shut, desperately trying to force down the terror before someone noticed. Lorne just went on, sounding mischievous, as if trying to pull one over on John while he was less than awake.

"So what do you say, sir? You in?"

John couldn't answer. He was trapped in a memory that wasn't real of skiing and falling and dying. He couldn't breathe. He could almost feel his crushed ribs jabbing into his lungs like splinters, and he gasped at the phantom pain. He must have made the sound out loud because the next thing he felt was Teyla's hand gripping his in fierce comfort. There was another touch on his other wrist, and he recognized the cool experienced touch of Keller as she checked his pulse and touched his forehead.

The awkward silence that had fallen on the group faltered and Lorne and Ronon and Woolsey continued the conversation, albeit sounding self-conscious as they deliberately avoided calling attention to John's discomfiture. He appreciated that. He hated losing control over himself so spectacularly and he forced himself to take several deep breaths, trying to shake off the panic.

_Remember that you were brave, John. She hurt you, but she's gone. It wasn't real._

The murmuring voices of his friends swirled around him in a soothing shower of sound. Teyla's hand was firm inside his and he realized he was squeezing quite tightly. He relaxed his grip a bit, embarrassed, and felt panic's hold also slip. The terror began to fade along with the memory.

"What troubles you, John?" Teyla asked, low enough not to be heard by anyone else except probably Keller.

"Your pulse is racing and if I had to guess, I'd say your blood pressure is through the roof," Keller added.

"I'm okay...I'm okay," he managed to whisper. He finally opened his eyes to find Teyla and Keller leaning over him. They too, were trying to act casual, their concern evident in their expressions alone. He took a last deep breath and forced a grin, "Siren left me a few surprises buried in my head. Caught me off guard. I'm sorry. I'll be fine."

Teyla's frown surprised him and she bent low to whisper for his ears only. "Do not apologize for the horror that _stanga_ inflicted upon you, John Sheppard. You defeated her because you are courageous enough to feel pain and empathy. Never apologize for those strengths."

John just stared at her, a little bit amused at her adamancy. "Ok. I won't. Sorry..."

He caught himself just past the word and decided to go with it. Teyla raised her eyebrow and finally chuckled under his taunting stare. John sighed and sank into his pillows, scrunched down further under the covers. He felt even more tired than before.

"I think I'll check out now," he added.

Teyla gave him one last squeeze, Keller patted him on the shoulder and he just endured the annoying sympathy. Now that the panic had passed he was feeling embarrassed and frustrated. Despite Teyla's words, he didn't like to seem anything other than perfectly in control. How could his people, his command and his friends, depend on him if he wasn't in control?

Damn Siren and her games that he couldn't even remember until they jumped out and bit him.

"Lorne!" he said suddenly, shoving himself upright. Lorne spun with a smile from where he'd been dragging his chair back to its original position as the party broke up.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm in on your heli-skiing scheme. But I'm pretty rusty. Why don't you plan three or four trips over the course of the season so we can work our way up to the hard stuff."

"Sounds great."

"And talk to Lieutenant Holtze. She grew up in Austria and I think she skied competitively in college. Put her on scanning the mountain you want and planning the runs."

"I'll do it, sir. I didn't know that. Thank you!"

Lorne ran out of the infirmary as if he were going to look up Holtze at that very minute. John grinned after him, feeling better. Teyla was watching him from where she was waiting for Ronon to finish putting his chair away. He nodded at her and was rewarded with a satisfied smile.

Keller fussed over his IV and pulse for a moment longer then left with Woolsey and Rodney. John was finally alone. His heart raced a bit more than usual at the thought of a challenging ski season, but Teyla was right about one thing: He'd beaten Siren and ended her reign of torture upon mortals. There was no point in allowing her to continue to torture him. He had to get back up on that metaphorical horse.

He shifted to get comfortable, looking forward to his own bed - tomorrow night.

Just one thought kept him from sleep and brought back the ache that Hedda had soothed with a small twinge: What else was buried in his memory that would jump out when he least expected it? He worried over the thought for a long time until the memory of Teyla's hand inside his erased it completely.

He couldn't know. But it didn't matter. Teyla and Ronon and Rodney had his back. Lorne and Woolsey did too, he thought, remembering the drones leaping away from the city to save itself from the asteroid. They would do for him what he did for them should he ever stumble.

And if he tried really, really, hard and he was really, really, lucky - they would never _ever _have to.


	20. Chapter 20

One month later:

Ronon collapsed into his bed, feeling like he'd gone ten rounds with a Wraith, to use Sheppard's term. He'd have to ask some day what a round was and why ten of them was considered grueling. Sheppard used the phrase to mean "beat up" and that's how Ronon felt. They had all gotten knocked around when the Wraith Hive ship crashed into the ocean and sank like a stone. Major Kersey had gotten them out only moments before the great ship sucked everything within its grasp down into the depths with it.

Dr. Keller, still recovering herself, had only let him out of her grasp an hour ago with the promise that he'd go home and rest. Ronon had promised just to get out of there, but he didn't need encouragement to rest. He was tired.

He'd been dozing for a couple of hours when his doorbell chime rang and he bolted out of his bed with a leap and a surge of adrenaline. A quick glance at the clock confirmed his suspicion. It was late. There must be some emergency.

He threw his shirt over his shoulders, snatched for his gun belt and was strapping it on over his sleep pants when he swiped the release and opened the door to his room.

"What's the problem? Where's the trouble?" he growled at the visitor before stopping to look and see who it was.

"Uh..."

Ronon held himself back from lunging down the hall and finally realized that it was Shepard standing there, dressed in night clothes with an added pullover sweat jacket. Sheppard pulled a face and Ronon finally realized that there was no urgency in his stance. He had his hands in his pockets and stood in a wide slouch.

"No emergency?" Ronon said at last, pausing in the act of finishing his buckle.

"I was just, uh, I wanted to make sure you were doing alright. See if you needed anything?"

Sheppard was blushing a deeper red the longer he stood there and he suddenly turned as if to leave, looking like he was about to bolt.

"But I should let you rest. Sorry I woke you."

"Wait!"

Sheppard had already taken a step before Ronon got his brain to catch up. He also took a step, eager for John to stay. _Where did Sheppard go when the memories got too thick?_

"I was just lying around. Want to go get something to eat?" Ronon asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Sure." John looked at him sidewise. "You going to bring your gun to the dining room?"

Ronon looked down, finished fastening the buckle.

"Can't be too careful," he said and John guffawed. Ronon swiped the control bar and his door shushed closed. Sheppard turned down the hall and they walked in unhurried companionship through the quiet and empty city.

No words required.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for the kind notes along the way. On a side note, Sheppard has had a little chat with me. He's gotten a little, hm, testy about my treatment of him in this episode and I admit I was a little hard on him. In my defense, it was just too darn tempting to kill him off so often when it was so easy to keep him alive at the same time. I've apologized, and I think he'll appear in future stories, but he wants something really actiony to do. I'll have to think on it._


End file.
